Nevar
by Aoiika
Summary: AU. Lily and James are murdered, leaving behind their seven-year-old son. The little black bird has a hard time fighting his way through life on his own. Especially when he's found by a darkness that has followed him, and swallows him whole. HP/DM. Possible violence and serious abuse later on.
1. Chapter 1

**A/n: **Hi there, I'm Aoiika. Welcome to my HP fanfic.

I love to share and I love feedback!

Reviews are more than welcome.

Thank you :)

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**Chapter 1**

**His Heart Broke**

His heart broke. It did really. Yes in fact, it hurt. He thought so. He felt it.

He felt like he was about to cry. But he had to go just a little bit further…just a little more…

Complete and utter silence.

FLOP

He'd finally done it.

The boy snapped the book shut and looked around his small but cosy room, all the while running his little fingers through his wild raven-black hair. The little raven tried to reassure himself. He was back into his world, back to his reality. He had loved the book he'd plunged into only the day before. He had read it all in a matter of hours, but the ending had ripped him apart. His favourite character, the wise magician, had come to die in the last chapter.

Little raven lay the book carefully on his bed and stood up to stretch his legs. He'd been crouched over the pages for so long. He'd even spent the greatest part of the night sitting on his cold and narrow windowsill to catch the light from the streetlamps, in order to keep on reading without needing his lights on. If he'd used his bedside lamp, his parents would've noticed and scolded him and told him to go to sleep. But he knew he could not have gone to sleep with the unfinished story still playing in his mind.

He walked back to that window. It was around noon, but the sun was nowhere to be seen. It was just another day in England. Grey skies, wind, rain. But the raven didn't mind. It was perfect weather for reading. He wished he could plunge back into the book, but it was over now. And he did not want to go into a world without the wise magician. He still could not believe he had died.

His eyes prickled again at the thought. _At least no one died in reality, _he reminded himself, _everything is all right_. He decided he needed to get out of his room. He slowly and silently descended the stairs, down into the living room where a young adult man was comfortably seated, reading a book of his own with a cup of steaming coffee by his side. The man had the same erratic hair as the raven, the same smart gaze, also framed by glasses.

"Harry, sweety." Called a young woman as she entered the living room from the kitchen. She crouched down to eye-level with the seven-year old. Her green eyes were a mirror image of the child's. "Aren't you reading your book? You were so into it before." The loving woman ran her fingers through the boy's pitch-black hair, trying to keep it neatly behind his ears, and failing. She gave up with a sigh and turned to her husband.

"I finished it." The little raven answered his mother.

"Already?" His father looked up, his attention finally caught.

The small raven nodded. He hoped he would get a new book. He still had three weeks of holiday left before the new school year started, and he didn't want to waste a minute of it. He never wanted to stop reading.

"Shall I give you mine then?" His father smiled and offered the book he was holding. Little raven's eyes widened as he looked at it; it was _huge_. It seemed to be as thick as it was long.

"James!" The green-eyed woman scolded, putting her hands on her waist. "Tolstoy is _not_ reading material for children!"

"I wasn't serious Lily honey." The man responded with a charming smile, as if he'd done it hundreds of times before. "What kind of book would you like to read next, Harry?" He addressed his son with a proud look and waved for him to join him on the couch. Lily Potter also followed and sat on her son's other side.

Little raven was entranced by the big book in his father's hands, impressed that his father had already read more than half of it. If he would read it, it would take him ages. But his imagination went wild when he thought about the amount of information stored in there. _What a fantastic world it must be!_

"Your mother is right, Harry." James Potter said as he noticed his son's interest. "This book is for when you're a bit older. We'll take you to the store tomorrow and you can pick out anything you like."

"We're spoiling him too much." Lily said as her hands reached for the raven's hair again. She seemed unable to leave it alone. But her adoring smile showed she was not annoyed by it. Quite the opposite: she was charmed.

"I know." James agreed, but looked equally unable to stop the spoiling.

The raven was much too exhilarated to notice. He was already looking forward to tomorrow. But he didn't think he could wait. He wanted to go now, buy a pile of books higher than him so he could read all holiday. He wanted to sit on his windowsill every night. It wasn't comfortable, but there was something so exciting about it. It was as if he got even more pulled into the pages by the surrounding darkness.

"You have to go to work tomorrow though." Lily addressed her husband.

James slapped his forehead. "Oh, I completely forgot. Sorry, son, you'll have to wait until I'm back."

The raven's desperate glistening eyes looked up at his father, who seemed to be having a very hard time resisting. A smile stretched from ear to ear as he recognized those eyes. He looked up to his wife to find the exact same green orbs.

"Could you take him?" He asked.

"I have to go see…you know." She threw a furtive glance at her son, afraid he might understand more than she wanted. He was such a bright boy. "I'll leave him with Mrs. Figg for a few hours. By the time I'll be back you'll be almost home. It'll be nicer if we all go."

"Ah, yes." James nodded, seemingly agreeing that his wife's 'business' with a certain someone was important, and that a family outing to the bookstore would be better.

Everyone was silent for a while. Little raven felt a perceptible heaviness settling over the trio. Ever since he could remember, moments like these had occurred. His parents spoke about vague things, and then they would become tense and silent. He knew not to ask them anything then.

It was chicken with vegetables and rice for dinner that evening. The little raven liked rice, but the chicken was dry and the vegetables were slightly burnt and mushy. His father had once whispered to him when he was still in kindergarten: "Your mom isn't a very good cook, but don't tell her that, okay?"

But the raven couldn't know, because he'd never tasted anyone else's cooking. He always ate packed lunches at school or at Mrs. Figg's house, and he was never allowed to go play at a classmates' house. His parents always kept an eye on him, except when he was at school or with Mrs. Figg. They had always said he would understand the reason for that when he was older.

Sometimes, James played with his son outside, playing hide and seek, or teaching him to ride a bicycle. But he did not have that much free time, and certainly not during the holidays, when the raven boy was always at home. So he'd taught him how to read early on, pushing him to improve his skills until he was able to read entire books in just over a day, at just 6 years of age, when his classmates had only just started learning the alphabet. The little raven could pass his time lost in stories when no one had time for him, and he had no playmates.

The little raven picked at his food. Lily and James had retreated to the kitchen after ordering him to finish his plate. That happened regularly too, like the tense silences. It was nothing unusual for the raven, it had always been like that. He asked no questions about it.

He didn't want to finish the chicken though. He had to chew every bit for several minutes before he could swallow it, and even then it felt like a big pill was travelling down his throat. He threw a conspiring glance at the kitchen door. Maybe he could quickly deposit his plate in the sink while his parents weren't looking. He knew they wouldn't call him back to finish once he'd already gone to his room.

He slipped of his chair quietly, took his plate in one hand and the cutlery in the other, and tiptoed to the door. He carefully turned the knob and slipped inside. He was good at this. That's why the goblins had never been able to find him.

"But what if _Riddle_ finds us this time?" The raven heard his mother hiss the word 'riddle'. _Doesn't she like riddles? _He wondered. He liked riddles, they were fun and mysterious.

"Calm down, Lily." His father responded while he rubbed her arm soothingly. "I won't let him come anywhere near Harry…" He broke off suddenly when his eyes fell on the raven's wild feathers. "Harry!" He exclaimed.

The raven cringed. His father sounded angry. He stopped in his tracks with his plate still in his hand and the piece of chicken still left on it. Would they make him eat it?

James stepped over to his son and took the plate and cutlery from his hands. "It's rude to listen to people's private conversations, Harry!" He said sternly. The raven didn't dare look up at this cold gaze. "Now go brush your teeth. I don't want to see you anymore tonight."

Little raven did as he was told. He was much too scared of his father when he was like that.

He was in his bed, shuddering at the memory of his father's disappointment and anger. Would the excursion to the bookstore be put off because of this? Would he have to pass the rest of the holiday without any new stories?

Luckily, James entered his room before the little raven could go to sleep, and sat down on the small bed with a sigh. He took off his son's glasses and put them delicately on the bedside table.

"You must understand, son, your mom and I need to talk about serious things. We don't want you to hear them just yet." Little raven nodded eagerly; anything to make his father pleased and proud of him again.

Mr. Potter smiled, though it looked like a slightly saddened expression, and stroked the raven's soft pitch-black feathers. "Be good from now on, and we'll go to the store tomorrow." The raven nodded frantically. He was relieved he would still get to go to the bookstore.

"I love you, son." James said as he kissed the boy's forehead and retreated to the door, where his wife had been standing. Lily advanced to the bed and also left the softest kiss on the raven's forehead. "I love you." She whispered, and the raven closed his eyes to savour the feeling. He thought he could recognise his mother and father's lips among millions, just by touch.

The day didn't end so badly after all.

* * *

The next morning could not arrive soon enough. By the time the sun was up, the little raven was already fidgeting in his bed, wide awake. When his father got up, he went downstairs to have breakfast and see him off as he left for work.

His father worked at a car company. He made the cars. Well, he did not make them himself, but he drew them on paper and then other people made it for him. That's what the raven had always told his classmates.

He'd also told that his mother worked in a place called 'laboratory'. His classmates had never believed him, because they thought he'd invented the name, like he sometimes invented countries and boasted about having seen strange creatures over there. They had trouble even pronouncing the word 'laboratory'.

The raven didn't care. He knew it was true. He had seen the place. It was a very large building, with lots of big rooms, filled with stone tables and shelves, glass tubes of all shapes and sizes and big machines that made soft noises. And people walked around in long white coats. Some even had funny plastic glasses on, nothing like the ones he wore himself.

Little raven had loved it there. It had looked like another world entirely. But his mother had told him he could not enter the rooms, because there were dangerous things inside. It had immediately sparked his curiosity. He started imagining goblins and dragons and other creatures living in the big machines and making the noise. And the liquids with the funny colours in the tubes looked like potions made by someone like the wise magician from his book.

"Don't worry. The day will be over before you know it." James Potter told his son as he walked out the door and gave him a last hug. "You won't have to wait long for your books. Promise me you'll always be so keen on reading." He said with an amused smile. "Read as much as you can."

Little raven nodded. He could imagine nothing better than reading. And his father being so proud he could read so well and so quickly already made him even more eager to continue.

"Good." His father said as he ruffled his hair. "It's the best way to learn and broaden your mind."

"Go brush your teeth and get dressed, sweety." Lily instructed her son once they'd come back inside from watching James' car turn around the corner. "I'll pack you a lunch to eat with Mrs. Figg today. Make sure you share."

"I don't like it there." The raven protested. He wasn't happy about the arrangement. "Her cats always scratch me."

Lily crouched down to play with the raven's feather-like hair again. "I told you, you have to approach them slowly." Her eyes sparkled with the glint of an idea. "It's like a dragon, or a sphinx. You have to go very slowly and carefully, so as not to spook them."

"Really? They're scared of me?" The raven wondered. He didn't want the cats to be scared.

"Yes, more than you are of them. I'll show you how to handle them when we get there, all right? Then you can practice all the time that I'm gone."

"Okay!" The raven enthused. The idea of a new mission, a quest to tame Mrs. Figg's sphinxes and dragons sounded exciting. He quickly went up the stairs to get ready for the adventure.

All day long, the little raven did as his mother had shown him, moving very slowly towards the cats in Mrs. Figg's living room. He shuffled closer on the couch, moving an inch every few minutes. It was with incredible patience that he managed to stroke three of the seven cats by the end of the day. He was so proud and he wanted to tell his mother about his success. He was practically jumping up and down when the clock on the wall showed five o'clock in the afternoon. He would soon be able to tell her, and then when his father came home, they'd all go to the bookstore and he could get a book _twice_ as large as the one his father was reading. He'd decided he wanted a book with _thousands_ of pages.

Finally, the bell rang.

"Could you get that, Harry, dear." Mrs. Figg instructed. She was quite an old woman and getting up from her chair took a long time. "That will be your mother." She sounded relieved that her job was over.

The little raven flew off the couch and to the front door. He opened it with a smile plastered on his face. _Mom!_ He thought with enthusiasm.

…_Mom?..._

He wasn't sure. It was his mother, but something was wrong. She didn't look like his mom at all. Her green eyes were so wide with horror that he could see all the white around her irises. Her mouth seemed set in an eternal scream. Her fingers were fixed like claws and covered in red, like a monster's ready to attack him. Lily fell to her knees on the porch. Her eyes relaxed and began to flood with salty water as she looked at her son, her own little raven.

"Is it your mother?" Mrs. Figg's voice came from the living room. But Harry didn't hear. He could not take away his eyes from the woman. He could not move his feet, nor remove his hands from the door. He had read many scary stories, but never in his life had he been more terrified than at that moment. It left his mind blank.

But soon, the green eyes that mirrored his, emptied. They no longer held any sparkle. The last tears escaped, and the woman's body slumped to the ground, revealing a gaping, bloody hole in her back. Harry still couldn't move, couldn't breathe. And inside, his heart shattered.

Blue and red flashing lights. Loud sirens. Incomprehensible questions. Overwhelming confusion. Impenetrable denial.

Harry had left Mrs. Figg's house. He was home. But it wasn't home. The house was filled with strangers. The alien faces looked like unfriendly creatures to him, crawling around and sticking their noses in his parent's things. A young and stern woman was sitting next to him on the couch, where his mother had sat the day before. She had made him tea, but he hadn't drunk it. She had given him biscuits, but he hadn't eaten them. Nothing could get past his throat. Nothing could come in, and no words could come out.

"How are you feeling, Harry?" The woman said. But she seemed distant and cold. Harry didn't like her. He ignored her question.

It had been dark for a long time already when someone else, an older man with a lined face, came to talk to him.

"I'm sorry, boy, but your father won't be coming home either."

Harry looked up from his untouched teacup. A questioning, desperate and anguished look reflected in the green eyes that were his mother's.

The older man made a sound in between a sigh and a grunt and lowered himself to sit on the low table in front of Harry. "You're life has changed, lad. You won't see either of your parents again." He said with pity in his eyes.

Harry ran upstairs, threw himself under his covers and hugged his book with all his might. If only he could melt into the pages. If only he could go to a place where his heart wasn't breaking, a place where he would still have a heart to begin with.

But none of that happened. No longer a little raven; from now on, Harry would have to live with a mutilated heart.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/n:** Here we go for chapter two! Enjoy :D

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**Chapter 2**

**A New Start  
**

Sooner or later, we are left to our own devices. It's a basic rule of life. We all know it, though we don't necessarily like to think about it. Some might be more eager to spread their own wings than others. But none thinks about it when they have barely started primary school.

With seven summers on his record, the feather-haired boy had never thought about such things. They had not even crossed his mind. He'd had no worries, other than trying to get his parent's attention or their approval, or how he would get out of eating his vegetables next time.

At first, it had seemed like he'd actually been pulled into a tragic ancient tale, like the original fairy tales he'd once found in the library. He was certain it must've been that. He had hoped for a few days. But as time stretched on, and he was being dragged from offices to foster parents, to institutions and group homes, the spark began to fade. As he found himself sleeping in a different bed every night, the possibility of there being a switch that he could use to turn back time evaporated.

While he waited for the next thing to happen, for the next ride to the next centre, he read his book again and again, but each time, skipping over the end and pretending the wise magician hadn't died. Harry wouldn't allow him to die. He had the power to decide that.

As he plunged back into the last story he'd read before his life had changed, he had the feeling he was going back to that moment. It almost felt like he'd find his mother and father down the stairs if he shut the book. So he didn't shut the book, and just savoured the idea that it _could_ be true. He could make himself believe it was true.

"You're reading that same book again, Harry?" The blonde woman sitting behind the wheel of the car asked. Her name was Rebecca, a social worker who'd been assigned to Harry's case and had the responsibility to find him a more permanent home. It would be best if he could be placed before the new school year started, so that he could at least try and fit into his new school from the start.

The young boy sitting behind her nodded as he looked at her in the rear-view mirror. He hadn't said a word to her yet, even though she'd tried hard to make him communicate. It wasn't the first traumatized child Rebecca had had to deal with, but she was even more concerned about Harry. He was the first one she got who had lost both his parents at once _and_ had seen his mother die in front of him.

Finally, after days of research, Rebecca had tracked down a family member: the mother's sister. It was a woman named Petunia Dursley. It had surprised her how hard it had been to even find someone. It was like the family had lived isolated for years. Even Harry hadn't been able to tell her if there were any grandparents, uncles or cousins. He only seemed to know the old woman, Mrs. Figg, and it was clear she would not be able to take care of the child.

It was a long drive to number four Privet Drive. It felt good for Rebecca to stretch her legs once arrived. She walked around the car to let Harry out. She decided they would come back to fetch his suitcase later. The first encounter was important. If Harry could not stay with his aunt, Rebecca didn't know if she could find him a permanent home anytime soon.

It had been hard enough to convince the woman on the phone, and she had been very reluctant to come by the closest agency office. Rebecca didn't like Mrs. Dursley very much, but she fervently hoped her heart would warm up once she got to know her sister's son. Harry was such a sweet and smart child, she could not imagine anyone willing to turn him away.

Rebecca let Harry keep his book in his hands. He didn't like to part with it. She then turned to the front door, took a deep breath and knocked.

* * *

"Don't you dare let it burn, boy!" Uncle Vernon bellowed from behind his newspaper.

Harry was scared by that voice, and completely bewildered. He'd never cooked in his life. But as soon as he'd moved in with the Dursleys they'd ordered him to help make breakfast every morning, while his uncle sat at the table, reading, and his cousin Dudley played with his toys in the living room. Even after a week of practice, he hadn't managed to keep the bacon from burning yet. Uncle Vernon scolded him every time. But _he_ never apologised afterwards. Neither uncle Vernon nor aunt Petunia came to his bed at night to kiss him gently. They yelled at him, they pushed him, they ordered him, and the broad head of the family had even _hit_ him.

Never in his life had anyone hit him before. Harry didn't even understand why, he'd only used one of the toothbrushes in the bathroom because no one had given him one. Lily had told him to always brush his teeth. And so he would always brush his teeth, no matter how much it angered anyone else.

After having been deprived of breakfast because he'd burned the bacon once again, Harry returned to his room. It was a tiny place, just enough to fit a squeaky bed and an old closet. He had taken most of his clothes with him, a few toys, the few books he owned and his glasses. But Dudley had already broken his toys, and thrown one of his books out the window while it was raining. After that, Harry had made sure to hide his most precious book at the back of his closet, and only took it out to hug it at night. It was his link to the past, his link to his parents.

There was not much to do for the raven boy at number four Privet Drive. There was no one to play with him, take care of him. He didn't dare read his books for fear Dudley would take it away. There was one advantage to living with the Dursleys though. Harry could go out any time he wanted, unsupervised. In fact, they seemed to be happier when he did. And so, Harry found himself once again walking out of the house that morning, headed for the nearest park. Lily and James had never let him go out much, and certainly not alone. It was a newfound freedom he found he rather enjoyed.

Besides, he had to admit it. Rebecca had told him that it would be hard in the beginning, that it took time for someone to settle in a new environment, but Harry wasn't an idiot, even at seven. It had taken him much less than a week to understand this situation would never get better. It wasn't like he'd expected anything, he couldn't imagine being loved by anyone else than his parents, but the obvious dislike, or even _disgust,_ of the Dursley family towards him had shocked him. He hated it there. He liked being away from them, and they were less aggressive towards him if he made himself invisible as much as he could.

After running around the neighbourhood, playing on the swings, and exploring the park all day long, Harry found he was ravenous by the time it was evening. He'd had no breakfast and no lunch. He had no choice but to go back and beg for dinner.

Aunt Petunia sniffed haughtily as she roughly deposited mashed potatoes, carrots and meat on Harry's plate. His portions were noticeably smaller than everyone else's, and he didn't really like anything that was served, but he was so incredibly hungry that he didn't complain and immediately started to scarf down everything.

"No bloody manners." Uncle Vernon muttered as he dug into his own pile of mashed potatoes and threw disapproving glances Harry's way.

Harry felt like he was being stabbed every time the Dursleys criticized or insulted him. But he kept his mouth shut and ate as quickly as he could so he could disappear to his room for the night. Before he could put his plan into action however, the doorbell rang. Aunt Petunia muttered something that made her opinion of people interrupting dinner clear enough. She snapped her fingers right in front of Harry's eyes and ordered him to go open the door.

Harry sat still on his chair for a moment, staring at the aunt he'd never seen before a week ago. He didn't understand why they were making him do everything, and why Dudley could stay in his chair and eat lots of meat and gravy as he sat grinning at Harry. He always found it funny when Harry was being put down. Dudley even joined in, and was rewarded by his parents when he did.

Why?

There was no other word in the raven boy's mind. _Why_ did they hate him so much?

"Didn't you hear your aunt, boy? Go! Now!" Uncle Vernon roared.

Being more than four times his size, Harry immediately skittered away from the huge monster and ran to the door. A sudden thought flickered in his mind as he opened it. _What if I ran out that door…and didn't come back?_

It was just a momentary thing, and it was gone by the time his eyes fell on the kind and familiar face of Rebecca.

"Hey, Harry!" She greeted him with a smile, interpreting his coming to open the door as a sign he'd began adjusting to the family's home and customs already. "I've come to bring you something you might want to keep. Can I come in?"

Harry wasn't sure. He didn't know if his aunt and uncle wanted him to let her in. In the end, he concluded that they would be angry with him either way, so he shrugged and stepped aside to let her in. She ruffled his hair as she passed. Harry felt a stab of pain and grief as he remembered the two people who always used to do that.

Rebecca apologized profusely to the Dursleys for interrupting their evening meal. Enough, it seemed, to calm some of their irritation. Diplomacy was an important skill in her branch of work.

She didn't stay long though. As she'd said, she'd only come to give Harry something. She took him aside in the living room and sat him on the couch before pulling an envelope out of her pocket.

"This is for you, Harry." Was all she said as she handed it to him.

Harry took it hesitantly, and carefully opened it. Inside were pictures, seven of them; one for each year of his life. In some he was a baby in his mother's arms, in others he was playing with his father, and others held the three of them together, smiling at the camera. The only one he could remember was the last one. It was his seventh birthday on July 31st, only three weeks earlier. His mother had taken the picture, and his father was next to Harry as he blew the candles on a beautiful home-made cake.

Harry's fingers tentatively traced over his father's face, then over his own in the picture. It was the first time he saw them both next to each other. The first time he really _looked_ at his father, and tried to imprint every detail in his brain. The first time he noticed how much they resembled each other.

There was an unbearable, searing pain in Harry's chest. He could no longer breathe. He hastily put the photos back into the envelope and hugged it against the spot where it hurt. He felt tears coming up behind his glasses, but tried his hardest to hold them back. He didn't want to cry in front of the Dursleys.

Rebecca's eyes filled with pity and empathy for the little raven-haired boy. There was nothing more she could do for him though. She had other children to care for, to find a home for. It was the boy's family's work to comfort him and support him now.

Rebecca rubbed Harry's back and went back to the kitchen. She explained her concern for Harry to the Dursleys, advising them to take care of their nephew through this most difficult time. The Dursleys nodded stiffly, but kept their lips glued together. The last thing they wanted was for a nosy social worker to tell them how to raise a child, especially _that_ child.

They followed Rebecca back to the living room, but by that time, the boy had vanished back to his room. There was nothing left for her to do than to say goodbye to the Dursleys and leave Harry to his new life.

The raven had immediately hidden the precious envelope, for fear it would be taken away from him. It was only at night, when he was certain he could hear the Dursley's snores, that he crept to the closet and took out his book, in which he'd slid the envelope. He tiptoed quietly to the window to look at the photos in the lights from the lampposts. A piece of paper slipped out when he did. It fell to his feet.

Harry frowned for a moment, his heart beating fast. Was this…from his parents?

His fingers trembled as he reached for the note and unfolded it. His heart dropped.

_Dear Harry,_

_Here are some pictures I collected from albums I found in your parent's possession._

_I could not take them all. I hope you will like the ones I picked out for you._

_I'm afraid the rest of them will be thrown away. Though I will try and convince Mrs. Figg to keep them in storage, if you ever desire to get them back._

_I would also like to wish you luck for your first day at school next week. Everything has been taken care of. Though your uncle and aunt insisted that you attend a different school than your cousin, I hope you will make friends quickly._

_Work hard and do your best. Your future is in your hands, Harry._

_Rebecca_

It wasn't from his parents. No explanation for their disappearance, no precious window on the past.

Harry looked at the pictures again. How he missed them both.

A tear fell on the top picture and he hastily wiped it off with his sleeve. Then he put the pictures away in the book and lay it on his bed. He'd begun to understand the way of life. He'd come to understand that in order to get through this, in order to survive, he would have to lock the memories away. He would keep them close, but locked up.

He took a deep breath in an effort to blink his tears away. Then he brought his attention back to Rebecca's note. He was surprised to feel regretful that he'd never spoken to her. She had been a nice person. He would much rather have lived with her than where he was now. It felt like he'd missed a chance. He would never see Rebecca again. He was stranded in this hostile place.

The nightly raven read the note a second time before going back to his bed and taking off his glasses. The new school year would indeed start in a few days. This was not at all how he'd imagined it would happen. Not in the least. But he tried to see the bright side of it: he wouldn't be stuck with his cousin. In the short week he'd spent here, he'd come to absolutely loathe Dudley, who made fun of him in front of his friends, neighbours, everyone. He'd been terrified that the same would happen at school. He didn't have to worry about that anymore.

The raven lay on his back and stared at the patch of light on his ceiling, trying hard not to think about the ceiling he used to see before going to sleep, after getting good night kisses from…

He shook his head to clear away those thoughts, and began staring at the ceiling again, while he concentrated on emptying his mind.

Yes, it would be a long night.

* * *

Not only that night was long, but the three following nights too, not to mention the days, which crawled by at a slug's race tempo. Harry was both anxious and eager to start school. It would give him something to do, a place to be during the day other than in the park or in the company of his uncle, aunt and dear cousin. But at the same time, it was a new school. At his previous school, he'd had some trouble making friends. Firstly, because he'd skipped a grade when they noticed he could read and write better than a nine-year old, and secondly, because he could never attend birthday parties, or play dates, or school trips, or sleepovers. He wasn't involved in his classmates' lives outside of school.

Despite him being younger than everyone in his grade, he'd managed to get along with most of them; though he wasn't sure if he would've called them 'friends'.

And now, after all that trouble and effort, he had to start over. He wasn't sure if he felt up to it. _'I hope you will make friends quickly.'_ Rebecca had written in the note. Just those words put pressure on him already.

Harry lay awake all night on the eve of September 1st, and jumped out of bed the moment his alarm went off. He tried not to think about how Lily had woken him with a plate of pancakes, on September 1st the previous year. In this house, he had to take care of himself. He was a quick learner.

Aunt Petunia gave him some stale bread for breakfast. It was all right though; the raven's stomach was tight with nervousness. He couldn't get much down anyway.

While his uncle and aunt drove Dudley to school, and others parent's did the same for their children, Harry was sent off with a slip of paper, on which Petunia Dursley had written the school's address. This was a setback. The raven had counted on a little more guidance. He had no clue where Charlton Lane was. If he'd known he would have to go by himself, he'd have asked for a map so he could look it up in advance.

Harry gripped the straps of his old schoolbag tightly. A kind of anger, or rebellion was bubbling up in his gut. The Dursleys would do anything to make his life miserable? _Fine!_ He thought. He was determined to find that school, and to live any way he wanted, despite what his despicable family had to say or do.

The small but brave raven marched forward at a healthy pace, and soon reached a busy road, packed with morning traffic. He'd found this road during his daily wanderings, and had not dared venture further, in fear of getting lost.

Today however, he had no choice. He stepped into the road and decided to follow a hunch, and go right. He felt in inside, it was a good choice. Wherever he was going, it was the right way. Any demon, monster or other creature blocking his way would have to deal with Harry the adventurer. He had tamed Mrs. Figg's sphinxes! That was no trifle!

He managed to keep his moral high, for about fifteen minutes. By then, he'd wandered a long way along the road, and his feet had started to slow. Doubt made its way into his mind. He had nearly decided to stop and turn around, when he heard a loud bustle behind him, resonating above the traffic noise. Harry turned around and saw a pack of redheads moving his way, advancing like a herd of bulls.

Harry jumped aside to let them pass. There was a plump, motherly woman leading a young girl and boy, about Harry's age, by the hand. Behind her walked two older boys who were exact mirror images of each other. All the members had flaming red hair. The twins were sniggering and throwing unidentified projectiles at the younger girl and boy. It made the boy's ears go the same colour as his hair, but the girl turned around and threw herself at her older brothers. The woman had to pull them apart.

"Fred and George Weasley! I will _not_ have you all late for your first day because of your incessant teasing and joking around!" She bellowed at the twins. Then she turned her irritated eyes at the girl. Her voice softened when she addressed her. "Ginny, you're doing a great job at keeping your idiots of brothers in place, but remember you cannot do it at school." She said with a severe expression, while a tiny smile played around her lips. Harry had seen such expression on his father's face whenever he'd scolded him for doing something bad, but was secretly proud of his son. He'd never really paid attention to it. It was only when you began missing those things that you noticed them.

_This is my chance!_ Harry thought as he burst forward on his short and skinny legs to catch up with the herd. There was a good chance they were headed for the same school, since they were on foot, and even if they weren't, he thought the energetic woman might know where Charlton Lane was.

"Excuse me." He said tentatively as he reached them, but no one turned. No one had heard. "Excuse me!" Harry tried again, louder this time.

Only the small girl looked around. When she noticed Harry, she pulled on her mother's sleeve and pointed towards the black-haired follower.

"Excuse me," Harry repeated once more, smiling sheepishly in apology. He felt extremely nervous. He'd never addressed a stranger like that in his life. His voice was stuck in his throat for a moment. But the surprised and expectant expressions of all five people in front of him made his tongue come loose again. "Uh, I'm looking for my school. It's on Charlton Lane?" His fingers clutched the straps on his shoulders. He noticed they were slightly slippery.

"Of course, dear!" The red-haired woman immediately exclaimed and pulled Harry right into the middle of the herd. "We're going the same way, come on with us then. But hurry, those two muffins," she nodded towards the twins "have gotten us late."

Harry was overwhelmed by the sudden inclusion. He'd asked a simple question and now he was half-running to keep up in the midst of a red sea. The woman had taken one of his hands, and had put the other in the red-eared boy's grip. He smiled timidly at Harry, and Harry smiled back. Both his hands felt warm and comfortable.

He glanced to the woman's other side, but the girl was looking fixedly at her feet. She was too shy it seemed.

"What's your name, little man? Are you new in the area?" The woman asked while they hurried on.

"I'm Harry, madam." The raven answered, remembering the manners his own mother had taught him. "I moved here about a week ago. Thank you for helping me." He didn't dare look up as he talked.

"You're welcome, Harry." The plump woman responded warmly, pleasantly surprised by the young boy's politeness. "Couldn't your parent's take you?"

Harry flinched, and tried to disguise it as a cough. No one seemed to notice. "No, they're busy." He answered automatically. He had prepared no other answers. He had not yet considered that people would ask those kinds of questions.

"Oh my, they must have important jobs if they can't bring their own kid to school on the first day." She seemed displeased, but refrained from openly criticizing. "How old are you, dear?"

"Seven." Harry replied curtly.

"Oh, you'll be in the same year as my little Ginny then." She said with enthusiasm as she swiftly put one of the young girl's tresses back behind her ear.

"Actually," Harry countered shyly, "I've skipped a year."

All of them turned to look at him. The woman seemed surprised.

"Well, you'll be with Ron then. My little Ronnie's eight now."

The twins behind them burst into uncontrollable giggles as they heard Ron's nickname. Harry felt embarrassed for the red-eared boy. He threw a glance his way and noticed the boy was gaping at him with his mouth open, clearly impressed. He also noticed that Ron's hand was very slippery in his. He hadn't heard a word from Ron yet, but he decided he could come to like him.

Moving along like a swift wave, it wasn't long before the herd reached the school gate. Luckily, everyone was still running around on the playground. They weren't late.

The plump woman hugged each of her kids in turn, kissing them everywhere she could reach. The twins (whom she called Fred and George, though Harry had no idea which was which) reacted in disgust and ran away to meet one of their friends. "Lee!" They called and waved enthusiastically as they were reunited after a long summer holiday.

The girl, Ginny, was next. She was much more compliant, but she was still eager to get away and mingle into the crowd to go find her own friends.

The younger boy, Ron, seemed embarrassed, but not displeased by his mother's attention.

Harry was about to walk away while they were still saying goodbye when the woman turned to him and unexpectedly pulled him into the tightest hug he'd had in weeks. He nearly lost his glasses in shock.

"You're such a skinny little thing!" The woman commented as she let go of him again. "You must eat more, Harry." She frowned. "Come by the Weasley house one of these days, I'll make some nice treacle tart." And with those words, she went back the way they'd come, waving until she was out of sight.

This only left Harry and Ron at the gate, surrounded by other parent's parting with their children. They looked awkwardly at each other. Ron's ears still hadn't gotten rid of the reddish glow.

"You…don't have any friends over there?" Harry asked as he nodded towards the playground, where the other Weasley's had disappeared.

"Nah." Ron shrugged. It was the first word that had come out of his mouth. "My friends, Dean and Seamus, moved away over the summer."

"Oh."

"So," the Weasley boy began tentatively, "you really skipped a grade?"

Harry wondered why he seemed to care so much. He simply nodded in response.

"Whoa, that's so cool, mate." The boy smiled widely. "I'm Ron by the way, Ron Weasley." He extended his hand. He seemed to be doing better now that his mum and siblings weren't around anymore.

"I'm Harry, Harry Potter." The raven replied, and shook his new friend's hand.

* * *

Yes! Finally, I've started introducing Harry to his friends. I can start up the gang :)

What do you think of little Harry?


	3. Chapter 3

**A/n:** It is with renewed hope and eagerness that I post this third chapter. Will today be the day that I get a review? Will someone tell me what they think of my efforts? It's an interesting thought isn't it...

* * *

**Chapter 3. The Little Barmpot**

The world had become a strange place to the little raven. Everything had changed when he'd been taken into foster care, then changed again when he'd been taken into the Dursley's home. He'd barely had time to get used to how people, other than his own parents, treated him. But none had approached him as Mrs. Weasley had done. Or maybe 'approach' wasn't quite the right word. Harry had approached the family first for a little help, and had gotten much more than he'd expected.

The pleasant surprise didn't end there though. As Harry got over the overwhelming experience of the morning walk to school, he talked to Ron Weasley, and discovered the boy was really funny. He had a lot to say about his siblings, about his parents.

"My father works at the ministry." He told as he stuffed another cookie in his mouth while they waited for the school day to begin. "But everyone thinks he's a bit weird though, cause he's obsessed with magic. He performs tricks and stuff. He does it to friends, colleagues, even to us. It's how my mom and him got together. She told us she found it charming at first, but now she wishes he'd buckle down, get serious and get a promotion at the ministry."

Harry listened with pleasure. It was the first social interaction he'd had in what felt like ages. He hadn't talked to anyone his age since the last school year had ended.

"You got any siblings?" Ron asked him, and offered him one of his cookies. They looked home-baked and smelled delicious. Harry had relaxed a little and found he was hungry after his frugal breakfast. He gratefully took one.

"No." He replied, not really sure what he could add to that. He didn't want to end the conversation, but he certainly didn't want to volunteer anything about himself either.

Ron muttered a word Harry recognized as a curse word. He'd heard his father utter some at times, but his mother had always scolded him afterwards and warned Harry not to take over that 'bad' habit. He wondered where Ron had gotten it from.

"You're so damn lucky!" Ron complained aloud.

"I don't know…" Harry trailed off, unsure what he wanted to say. "I'd like to have a brother or sister." The previous years had been pretty lonely, alone with his parents or up in his bedroom, or even at Mrs. Figg's.

"_One_ maybe, but I've got six!" He showed six fingers to emphasize the number.

"You mean, there's more?" The raven looked around the playground for more redheads he'd missed. The herd had looked so big and loud already. He couldn't imagine what it must be like when the whole family was together.

"Yeah." Ron rolled his eyes. "But you won't find Bill, Charlie and Percy here. They've moved on to secondary school already. Ginny and me are stuck here with the Siamese from hell." He finished darkly.

"Oh." The little raven responded politely. The red-eared boy made it clear he didn't like the twins much. But Harry had thought they were rather funny and lively.

Ron seemed to see what he was thinking. "Wait until you've spent a year in school with them." He warned.

At that point, the bell rang and all the kids, ranging from five to eleven years old assembled around teachers who held cardboard signs with the number of their grade marked on it. Harry and Ron moved together to their corresponding teacher, an unsmiling middle-aged woman whose lips formed a thin line. She wasn't very welcoming.

"That's Miss Snape." Ron whispered to Harry as they joined the crowd. "Everyone thinks she's pretty scary. But normally we shouldn't be having her this year."

When all children were divided by year, names were being called to form different classes. Harry crossed his fingers all the while, hoping he would get into the same class as Ron. He really liked him. He didn't want to end up alone. He was so lucky to already have found someone.

"Potter, Harry." The raven stepped out of the crowd to join the small group behind Miss. Snape. Another teacher stood there, a more friendly looking chestnut-haired woman, who was supposed to teach them all year long. A girl with bushy brown hair was talking to her.

"I'm not sure I bought the right book. At my previous school, we didn't finish the book, so I made sure to read it all during the summer, but then I saw you used a different one here…"

Harry went to stand beside the girl, but soon regretted it. Her constant chattering about books, notes and agenda's were making him nervous, as if he had done everything wrong. He hadn't prepared anything. Was he supposed to?

He played with his feet as he anxiously waited for the final names to be called for his group.

"Weasley, Ron." Was among the last ones. Harry's heart made a little summersault as he released his breath. The Weasley boy grinned at him as he also joined the group.

With classes divided, every group followed their teacher to the class. Miss Sullivan, as was their teacher's name, immediately ordered them to split up in groups of three for a little assignment on introducing oneself. Immediately, old friends packed together, leaving lonely stragglers at the front of the class, looking around for someone to take them in. Three formed a group of their own, which left only two: the bushy-hair girl, and a girl from African descent.

Miss Sullivan patiently helped them to find groups which only had two members, like Harry and Ron's. In the end, it was the girl with the bushy mane who joined them.

"Hi," she began rather haughtily, "I'm Hermione. I'm new this year but I made sure I would be ready for this school's curriculum."

Ron slightly choked on his own tongue as he tried to repeat the word 'curriculum'. Harry however wasn't sure how to proceed. He went for the diplomatic solution and simply introduced himself without further comment.

"I'm Harry, new too." He looked at Ron. Not only his ears, but his entire face had turned scarlet. "And that's Ron." he said, assuming Ron wouldn't be able to speak for himself yet.

The assignment wasn't hard really. It was more like a game. It was about making puzzles with words that described elements in each other's lives, like names of pets, or hobbies etc…

The part that _was_ hard for Ron and Harry, was Hermione's constant meddling, pointing out their spelling mistakes or explaining them how the puzzles worked, apparently thinking they weren't able to read the guidelines that were printed on their sheets.

By the end of the assignment, both boys had learned much more about Hermione than they would've liked to. When lunch time came, they hurried off to make sure she wouldn't sit with them.

* * *

"Harry, what a pleasure to see you've bonded with my Ronnie." Mrs. Weasley chirped as the end-of-school bell rang.

It was their second week already, and she'd come to pick up her children at the gate every day; and each time, Harry was allowed to walk with them until they parted ways. He'd sometimes wondered why she didn't take the car, but then considered that the car that could fit the entire Weasley family still had to be made.

The raven simply smiled shyly and looked at his shoes. Walking with the Weasley's filled him with warmth every time. It also made him dread the moment he'd be alone again, having to open the door to number four Privet Drive and confront his own 'family'.

"Mom!" The twins called, hopping around and throwing rocks at everything that moved on their way. "Where have you been hanging around? A black-haired son in the family! What is dad going to say?" They made a show of looking affronted. Mrs. Weasley said a few 'un-nice' words to her sons and looked like she wanted to throw rocks too.

"What are they talking about, mum?" Ginny asked with a frown.

"Nothing Ginny, dear." Mrs. Weasley smiled nervously. "Don't listen to them."

"Where do they learn these things?" Harry heard her mutter under her breath, too low for anyone but him to hear.

Soon it was time to part again. Mrs. Weasley hugged him and kissed him on the cheek. Ron didn't dare to say anything more than 'Bye' in front of his mother and siblings. And with that, Harry grabbed his bag straps at his shoulders and marched home with a heavy heart.

He was still a good fifteen-minute walk away from Privet Drive when he heard some loud yelling behind him. He started and turned around.

A black car had just pulled up by one of the bigger houses of the neighbourhood, and a boy with white-bond hair, seemingly in a blind rage, had jumped out the moment it stopped and ran to the house, around it, and into the back yard.

"Draco! Come back here this instant!" A woman yelled as she stepped out of the car on the driver's side.

Harry was frozen for a moment, looking on in shock. It reminded him a lot of the Durlsey's yelling at him, though they used much nastier words, and Harry wouldn't dare yell back.

The woman had the same white-blond mane as the boy, gracefully braided along her back. She looked beautiful, but very severe; certainly not a woman to be trifled with. Still, the boy did not come when called. She locked the car and marched stiffly into the house and closed the door behind her.

Harry blinked a few times, trying to process what he'd just witnessed. As he began turning around, he heard the woman's voice again, coming from the back yard this time. But there was no answer.

Deciding it was none of his business the raven picked up the pace again. But he didn't want to go straight home yet. He tried to put it off as much as he could; though it was dangerous. The Drusley's considered it a crime if Harry was late. When exactly Harry was late, he did not know himself. The hour seemed to change every day, depending on their mood.

The park was showing early signs of fall. The temperatures had dropped drastically over the last few days, and trees were swiftly morphing into multi-coloured drapes. The wind picked up and made the leaves whisper as Harry entered the park. He made for the swings, his own favourite spot, but was abruptly stopped in his tracks by the sight of a white-blond head.

He recognized the boy from before, aggressively kicking at the dirt, or the poles of the swing set.

"Hey!" Harry called out in indignation before he knew it. "Don't break it!" It was the only toy he had after all.

The boy's head snapped up. Clear grey eyes fixed the raven with a sharp gaze, as if challenging him to repeat what he'd said. Harry swallowed. Now that he was facing the boy and saw him from closer up, he noticed he was a bit taller than him, and quite a bit older. The eyes did nothing to reassure him.

But the boy merely snorted and turned away to take a seat on one of the swings.

_What now?_ Thought Harry. He felt it would be wise to walk away. He clearly didn't have the upper hand here. But… his stomach felt tight…bubbly somehow. This was _his_ place. So much had been taken away from him already. It wasn't right. It wasn't _fair_ for him to have to retreat, just because this boy was older and stronger than him (or had scary eyes).

"Go on then!"

Harry's attention snapped back to the present. The boy had yelled at him.

"Go and cry to your _daddy." _He drawled.

The bubbly feeling intensified. The raven's claws were tingling, threatening to be exposed.

"Or you're probably a mama's boy, aren't you?" The white-haired boy sneered. "I don't care if you bring either. I'll kick both their arses!"

"SHUT UP!" The raven roared. His throat hurt with the strength of his voice. He'd used words he'd heard Fred and George at school, when their mother wasn't there to punish them.

The expression in the grey eyes changed. A glint of something Harry couldn't identify passed over them. The older boy stood up again.

"_What_ did you say?" He said in an icy whisper.

Harry's fear had gone, melted away in something deep and hot that was boiling to the surface. He had no idea what was happening to him, but he wasn't in any state to think about it.

"I said 'shut up', you…" What was another word he'd heard the twins from hell use? "You _quid_!"

The effect was instantaneous. The hostile grey-eyed boy crumbled in a fit of laughter.

"You know that's not a curse word right? You little barmpot!"

The raven frowned, irritated. He hadn't used the word right. He'd have to ask Ron what it meant next time. Plus, he didn't know the word the older boy had used in return. What had he called him?

"My name is _Harry_!" He retorted, determined to stand his ground. He wondered where all this bravery came from all of a sudden. He'd never done this before. It wasn't like he'd ever needed to though. He'd never had to deal with bullies or anything.

The white head stopped laughing and raised an eyebrow. "You are, aren't you." He leered.

Now what was that supposed to mean, Harry wondered. He was out of his depth. His opponent definitely knew better what he was doing.

"Yes, Harry _Potter._" Somehow, it felt better to Harry to mention his parents' name; a way of gaining their support in his mind if not in reality.

"Well _I_ am a _Malfoy._" grey eyes retorted, as if that settled the argument. "So you can just sod off to somewhere else." He waved dismissively at Harry and sat down on the swing again, kicking angrily at the dirt, his pale and pointy face screwed up in frustration and irritation.

Harry felt like screaming again. How could anyone in the world be so _infuriating_? He felt like flames should be shooting out of his eyes. To his greatest disappointment, it had no effect whatsoever. What else could he do? Kick the blond-haired boy out of the park? However angry he was, Harry could not imagine doing that.

Could he maybe just punch him on the nose? But Harry wasn't sure how to do that. Just make a fist, go stand in front of the person and swing at them? Somehow, there seemed to be something wrong with that plan. Back to the drawing board.

Except, there was no other plan. Not any that he could think of in the next few seconds. Harry had to admit it, he'd lost. The opponent was taller, heavier, and quicker with his tongue.

Green-eyes kicked the dirt himself in frustration and stomped past the swings, on the way out of the park. He didn't look back at the scary grey eyes.

Uncle Vernon was in the hall the moment the door opened. Apparently, that day had not been a good day for making drills, and he was ready to let out his anger on his ungracious and ungrateful brat of a nephew. What he had not anticipated though, was that the nephew, for the first time in the three weeks he'd spent under his roof, had some bottled up anger of his own.

"You're late!" The moustached walrus declared. He inhaled and inflated like a balloon to ready himself for a long insulting rant.

"SHUT IT!" The little boy yelled before the walrus could fully open his mouth.

Harry kicked the door shut and stomped straight towards the stairs. He was too furious to mind uncle Vernon, whose face was quickly flushing red under the bristling mustache.

BAM!

The hit landed hard on the back of the raven's head. He fell forwards and smashed his nose hard against the stairs. Another one followed immediately after that. Harry's glasses had fallen off his nose with the shock of the impact, and without them he blindly raised his scrawny arms to protect the most vital parts of his body.

"Vernon!" Aunt Petunia's panicked voice screeched. She quickly grabbed her husband's arm to put a halt to the beating. "What will people say when they see bruises!" She exclaimed.

Harry peeked in between his hands. Uncle Vernon's movements stopped as he continued to fix him threateningly. Aunt Petunia was looking down on his in disgust, and Dudley was peeking from the kitchen door with an excited look in his eyes and whipped cream on his face.

The anger had instantly vanished from Harry's stomach, replaced by paralyzing terror. For a moment, he'd been certain his uncle was going to kill him. But it looked like aunt Petunia had saved him. Maybe not for the best reasons, but still.

"Go to your room, _Potter._" Aunt Petunia uttered the name as if it was an insult. "And no dinner for a week!"

Dudley sniggered from his position at the kitchen door. It brought back some of Harry's previous anger to the surface. He looked up at Dudley with a 'shooting-daggers' gaze.

"UP TO YOUR ROOM, BOY! NOW!" Vernon bellowed. A vein in his temple looked like it was going to explode.

Harry forgot his irritation towards his cousin as his sense of self-preservation kicked in. He grabbed his schoolbag and glasses as he scrambled to his feet and ran up the stairs as fast as his feet could take him. As soon as he'd closed the door behind him, he heard a key turn in the lock.

The Dursleys had locked him into his room.

They hadn't done _that_ before. It brought up a whole new kind of anxiety in the raven. What if he needed to use the bathroom at night? What if he was thirsty? What if he got sick? Would no one help him? Would no one care for him, or even about him?

Harry dropped his bag to the floor, and then himself on the bed. The old springs squeaked loudly. He stayed there for a while, immobile.

He stayed like that, still and silent, for a long time. Long enough for the late afternoon to progress to evening. The clouds at his window turned to a shade of pink. Noises from the evening meal could be heard from downstairs. Uncle Vernon's bass-voice carried through the entire house.

The raven was happy he wasn't down there. He didn't want any part of _that_ family. Although it was far from being a comfortable feeling, being behind a locked door made him feel slightly safer, even if the enemy possessed the key.

Nonetheless, his stomach growled in famine. He rubbed it, hoping to dilute the empty feeling.

Harry stood up to get his 'wise magician' book in which he'd slid the pictures he'd gotten from Rebecca, then lay back down on his mattress.

He laid the book on his stomach and held the photo's above his face as he stared at them, one by one. As he came closer and closer to crying each second, he decided he needed a different place for these vivid reminders. A place less accessible. Safer, and less visible, so he wouldn't be tempted to look at them again.

After another hour of inspecting the room, he found a loose floorboard. Concluding it was the best he had, he tenderly deposited the envelope with the pictures under the floorboard, and closed it up again. _There; no one will find them now._

Darkness slowly invaded England, and Harry crept under his covers, exhausted by the lack of food and the events of the day. His nose felt bruised and hurt when he touched it, and he'd found blood on his fingers when he'd wiped his face, though he didn't know where the wound was.

The raven was too tired to care now, and he rolled up into a ball, hugging his magician book to his chest. He fell asleep while fantasising about his mother's dry chicken, burnt vegetables and home-made cakes.

All through the next week, the raven was regularly woken in the middle of the night by his rumbling stomach. He ate as much as he could get his hands on at breakfast, and almost greedily accepted everything Ron was prepared to share at school. Mrs. Weasley had even brought her home-baked cookies when she came to pick up the herd on Wednesday. She gave Harry five, looking displeased with the way his clothes hung loose around his body.

"What are your parents feeding you?" She'd remarked. Harry had simply smiled apologetically. He seemed to do it more and more.

They had a group homework assignment due on Friday. Harry, Ron and Hermione had been put together again, and were supposed to do it together after school. But Harry hadn't dared ask anything to the Dursleys. They still locked him into his room right after he came back from school. His week-long punishment was not yet over.

Ron hadn't wanted to do it alone with Hermione. So in the end, neither of the boys had done anything. Which was a problem, come the moment when they had to present it to their teacher.

Miss Sullivan was going round the classroom, stopping at every group to inspect the work and comment about it. Harry, Ron and Hermione sat silently together, each staring in another direction. Hermione was far from dense. She'd understood pretty quickly that the two boys were avoiding her. It didn't stop her from making comments about their mistakes from time to time, but it had lessened considerably. Most of the time, she 'humpfffed' with her nose in the air, as if she deemed their mistakes too stupid to even care about correcting them. And each time she did, Ron made a face a Harry that made him want to burst out laughing every time. He tried to control it though. He felt a little guilty about shutting the bushy-haired girl out. But she could be so irritating at times that he forgot his sympathy for her.

"Well, what have you got for me today?" Miss Sullivan addressed all three of them with a smile, expecting a full report on the different kinds of leaves that could be found in the area in the fall. Ron's ears turned scarlet once more as he closely examined his shoelaces. Harry settled for the apologetic smile he'd come to get used to.

"It's all here, Miss Sullivan." Hermione volunteered. She'd pulled out what looked like a photo album from her bag and handed it to the teacher.

Miss Sullivan 'ooohed' and 'aaaaahed' at every sheet of paper she turned, impressed by the variety of shapes and colours of the leaves and the detailed descriptions and information that accompanied them.

"This is the best I've seen until now, Hermione!" Miss Sullivan said as she handed back the album. "You must've put a lot of thought and work into this. Did you get help?" She asked, suspecting the helping hand of a generous family member.

"We all put in our best efforts." Hermione stated as she stared fixedly at the two silent boys, urging them to play along.

Ron looked bewildered and taken off guard. He only managed to mumble something unintelligible. Harry on the other hand was quicker to catch on.

"Y-yes." He managed to say with some conviction. "We collected a lot of them in the park near…where I live." He found he couldn't say the words 'my house' or 'my home'.

Miss Sullivan nodded approvingly, not seeming to doubt her students. Or maybe Hermione's reputation among the teachers was just so good every word from her mouth would be accepted unquestioningly.

"Whoa…uh…th-thanks, Hermione." Ron stuttered as they exited the classroom when the end-of-the-day bell rang.

"Yeah." Harry agreed timidly. "You saved us."

Hermione only responded with a slightly condescending smile. But the boys took it gratefully. At least, she made no comment about their 'dreadful inability' or their 'lack of academic motivation', both of which Ron still could not pronounce properly.

They walked side by side through the halls, when a sharp and cold voice suddenly stopped them in their tracks.

"Oh, if it isn't it _Mr. Potter_?"

* * *

Ooooh, who will our mystery person be? I wonder ;D


	4. Chapter 4

**A/n: **Good day y'all :D And here goes another chapter. Enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter. 4 Out of Luck**

Harry didn't need to turn around to recognize that sneering tone. It was the one that had sent him into an unprecedented rage a week before.

The two eight-year olds and the one seven-year old watched warily as the grey-eyed boy approached them. Harry remembered he'd said his name was Malfoy. He wasn't alone though. Two rather large boys flanked him, and a dense-looking girl followed. They outnumbered the trio. Not to mention that their being older was intimidating. Two or three years made a big difference at that age.

Harry's rebellious and antagonistic feeling towards grey-eyes showed its little head again. It was poking at his stomach with a white-hot needle.

"I hadn't expected to find you here." Malfoy continued, his tone and expression rather cryptic this time.

Hermione and Ron glanced nervously at Harry, understanding that those two had met previously. Green-eyes kept his gaze fixed on grey-eyes. He wasn't sure what he was supposed to do, but it seemed a good idea not to lose sight of his opponent.

"So?" Harry challenged. "Is that a problem?"

Just as Malfoy-boy opened his mouth to respond, another voice resounded through the partially emptied hallway (most students had exited the building already, impatient to start their weekends).

"What is happening here?" An ice-cold voice demanded. Everyone present turned their eyes to the newcomer: a tall stern woman, towering over them all and watching them with a hawk-like gaze. Miss Snape's high heels came to an abrupt stop. Even the silence seemed loaded with threats.

"Nothing, miss Snape." Malfoy said. He seemed to be the least afraid of the teacher.

"We were getting to know the new students." The girl behind Malfoy volunteered.

"Were _you_ creating trouble for my students?" Miss Snape snapped at the younger trio.

"Of course not!" Hermione exclaimed, seemingly horrified by the idea of going against the school establishment in any way.

Miss Snape raised an eyebrow at her, a cynical expression on her face. "Do you make a habit of talking back to teachers, _miss_ Granger? And in such a rude manner?"

"She didn't mean it that way!" Ron interjected, which won him a surprised look from his two companions.

"You too, Mr Weasley?" Miss Snape's eyes filled with a kind of black poison as she fixed Ron's flaming hair. "I've suffered quite enough ridiculousness from your older brothers. I warn you, I will have no patience or tolerance for any misbehaviour on your part."

Again, the unfair treatment of him and his friends triggered something in Harry. For the first time, he realised something in him had drastically changed since his life had been turned upside down. A fierce urge to protect the ones around him, the ones close to him, had made its appearance. He would succeed in keeping his new loved ones away from danger, where he had failed before.

"We haven't done anything!" He said vehemently.

Miss Snape's eyes narrowed as her eyes fell on the small head of raven feathers. Harry opened his mouth again, intending to explain what had happened, but he was cut off.

"Enough!" Miss Snape's voice wasn't loud, but it was razor-sharp. "All three of you, detention all next week." The trio's mouths fell open wide in consternation. "And _you_ Malfoy," she addressed her own student, "I expected better of you than to mingle with the Waesley kind."

Her knee-length black sweater flapped around her as she turned and walked away, followed by Malfoy's group. Grey-eyes was last in line. He threw a quick glance over his shoulder just before they turned the corner, an amused smile playing around his lips.

"A Week? A _week_?" Ron raged as they walked out the doors onto the playground. "We didn't do a single thing and we get a week? Fred and George only got a week when they set off firecrackers in the principal's office, or when they hid a rat in a teacher's desk drawer, or when they poured a bucket of oil right at the main entrance, or when…"

"Yeah yeah, we got it, Ron." Harry waved it off. He'd heard of the twin's great achievements already. He wasn't in the mood to listen again. He was more disturbed by the white-haired boy's expression as he walked away. There had not only been amusement at their predicament. He was sure he'd seen something else, but he could not pin down what.

_So this Malfoy is in this school too?_ Harry hadn't paid much attention to anyone outside his own class. Miss Snape taught two grades above theirs. So Malfoy had to be three years older than Harry, just like Ron's twin brothers.

Hermione on the other hand was completely silent all the way to the gate. She seemed lost in thought or shock, unable to utter a sound. She didn't look back at the boys as she stepped into her father's car and disappeared.

Mrs. Weasley questioned the two boys about their tardiness. The other members of the Weasley herd had reached the school gate much earlier. Ron had no choice but to tell his mother about the detention. He would have to stay late after school every day for a week, forcing Mrs. Weasley to come pick up her kids twice instead of once. Saying she was displeased was an understatement. And though she did not seem to lay any blame on Harry, for once, he was relieved to split off and make his way to the Dursley home. At least, one punishment would end before the next one began, he thought. Though he wasn't sure how his uncle and aunt would react to the news of his detention.

* * *

The weekend was spent in much the same way as always. Harry stayed put in his room now that the weather had worsened considerably, and tried to keep out of uncle Vernon's way. He'd been able to disguise his bruises as a fall from the swings the first time. He wasn't sure if Mrs. Weasley and the school nurse would accept that excuse a second time.

The raven tried to keep himself busy with homework, thinking that at least Hermione wouldn't be able to criticize him anymore. He sometimes opened his magician book and reread a chapter at random; but the pictures of his family stayed safely hidden under his loose floorboard.

After each long weekend, Harry was eager to go back to school; to see his friend, to throw him conspiratory glances during classes, to share some of Mrs. Weasley's delicious food. That particular Monday didn't look so good to him though. He'd never had detention before, but he felt quite certain miss Snape would make sure it was anything but enjoyable.

So it was a pleasant surprise when the time came of their punishment, and it turned out it would be another teacher keeping an eye on them. Harry didn't know her, but according to Ron, she was pretty dense and easy to fool. It would turn out all right after all.

Harry, Ron and Hermione began on their homework of the day, each keeping their noses glued to their sheets, while the teacher settled at her desk with a girly magazine in hand. He wasn't sure, but Harry thought he heard Hermione snort when she saw the pink-invaded cover.

An hour into the detention, some ruckus sounded outside the classroom. The four of them looked up at the door leading into the hallway. It steadily became louder, and the teacher got up and slapped her magazine shut on the desk with an exasperated sigh. The trio waited until they heard the clickety of her heels reach the end of the corridor.

"So, are you going to tell us why we're here?" Hermione asked.

Harry didn't like her demanding tone, as if it was all his fault they were here. _It is kind of my fault though._ He told himself, even if he hadn't done anything wrong in his opinion.

"Yeah, mate." Ron agreed, making Harry feel like he was being ganged up on. "What happened with that Malfoy? Fred and George told me about him last weekend. They say he's the most arrogant git they've ever had the privilege to know."

Green-eyes stared at his sheet of math homework. If his reading and language skills were excellent, his math skills were abysmal. He sighed as he thought about what he could tell them.

"I don't really know what his problem is." He frowned at a mistake he spotted in his exercises. "I met him at the park in my neighbourhood. Turns out he lives quite close to me."

"What happened?" Hermione insisted. "You didn't do or say anything to him?"

"I…well…I kind of said some bad words to him." Harry bit his lip. Maybe Malfoy _had_ a good reason for hating him. He couldn't exactly remember what it was that had made him so angry at the white blond head.

"Like what?"Ron asked, interested in which insults his friend had dared use.

"'Shut up' and…and 'quid'." Harry said, then remembered he had forgotten what that last word meant.

"Wait, you called him a _quid_?" Ron sounded surprised.

"What does quid mean?" Harry asked the redhead.

"It's a British slang word for pounds, the money." Hermione interjected. _Oh._ It made sense to Harry now, why Malfoy had burst out laughing at his wrong usage of the word. "But why would you get angry at someone you just met?" Hermione continued, determined to get to the bottom of things it seemed.

"Didn't you hear what I said?" Ron answered, slightly annoyed that Hermione had cut him off. "He's an enormous git. By the way, Harry, you might want to use _that_ word next time instead of 'quid'." He stifled a chuckle.

"Still, there's no reason…"

Hermione wouldn't let go, but she was forced to when the teacher entered the classroom once more, and the three punished students had to get back to their tasks.

It was the middle of the week, and the trio was already sick of the detentions. They had glimpsed Malfoy in the corridors or on the playground from time to time, still wearing a sneer on his face.

"He certainly shows signs of narcissism." Hermione had muttered darkly as they'd passed him in the hallway. Ron had looked at her as if she were an alien, then had turned to Harry with a questioning look. But Harry wasn't in the mood to explain to his friend what 'narcissism' meant (he'd read a compilation of Greek mythology during the summer, including the tale of Narcissus), he was more preoccupied with the monster howling in his stomach. It was the arrogant blond-head's fault that he, Ron and Hermione were condemned to five days of mind numbing boredom. (Actually, Hermione didn't seem to mind the detentions themselves, she always had time to study, but her pride had been hurt by it.)

It was cold and nearly dark when the three of them were finally allowed to go home on Wednesday. The sky was rapidly changing to a dark blue shade, and the street-lights had come to life. Hermione's mother was already there, waiting in her car. Hermione smiled at both boys and then quickly slid into the car, which sped away. It looked like a comfortable way to get home, the boys thought.

Ron had already put on gloves and a hat, even though it was still early October, but Harry didn't have anything like that. He hadn't thought to take any winter clothing with him when he'd had to pack his clothes. He'd merely emptied his own closet, never thinking about the downstairs closet, which held all gloves, earmuffs or scarves. And asking the Dursleys to buy anything for him was futile, he knew.

The raven rubbed his hands together, then shoved them into his jacket pockets. When that no longer helped, the boys decided to start jumping on the spot while they waited.

Luckily, ten minutes later, Mrs. Weasley showed up, slightly out of breath.

"I'm so sorry, boys!" She exclaimed. "Your father had to go back to work unexpectedly, and I had to help him find a file he needed." She told her son.

The boys were just thankful they could finally go. In fact, Harry could've gone a long time ago. Mrs. Weasley wasn't his mother. She could only prohibit her own son from going home alone. But Harry was of course in no hurry to go back to his extended family, and even if he had been, he still would've stayed by his friend's side.

Mrs. Weasley seemed even happier his was the case and gave him an extra warm hug for staying with her 'Ronnie'. The three of them walked at a quick pace to keep warm, while Mrs. Weasley told Ron what was for dinner tonight. Apparently, the redhead would get pizza in his belly tonight. _If aunt Petunia ever allowed pizza into the house, it would all disappear into Dudley and uncle Vernon's mouths. _Harry thought dejectedly. The Dursleys would already have eaten when he'd come home, and he'd be very lucky if aunt Petunia had left him cold leftovers from a few days back. It wasn't exactly appetizing. Harry hated cold potatoes, but it was something at least. He wasn't at all picky with his food anymore. He'd learned to appreciate every single mouthful. Though he would still prefer Mrs. Weasley's delicious baked goods that the red-haired children regularly shared with him.

Because of their faster pace, the time to part came sooner than usual, and Harry waved at the mother and son before they disappeared behind the next corner.

He didn't like going through the park in the dark (the darkness made him feel like he was entering a forbidden forest full of dangerous creatures), so this week he'd always taken the longer route around it. But when he was still ten minutes away from Privet Drive, the dark skies suddenly decided to tear open upon him. In a matter of seconds, Harry felt like entire buckets were being emptied on top of his head; he was quickly soaked through. He took off his schoolbag and clutched it in his arms in an attempt to keep the content dry. The last thing he needed was for all the work he'd done during detention to get lost, and to have to start all over again.

He began to run through the streets when a dark 4x4 pulled over next to him. The raven stopped short and looked warily at the car. It looked like a large famished beast in the nightly shadows and curtains of rainfall.

The window on his side slid down with a buzzing noise, revealing a middle-aged woman with a graceful white-blond braid slung over her shoulder. Harry instantly recognized her as the woman he'd seen fighting with Malfoy, the first time he'd seen him, not far from there. She was undoubtedly his mother.

Automatically, Harry leaned forward to look past the woman. And there indeed, seated in the front seat next to her was the older boy. He seemed to be intentionally ignoring Harry and looking out his window.

"Poor kid!" Malfoy's mother exclaimed in concern. "Quick, hop on in. I'll take you home." She offered. But she didn't leave the dark-haired boy much of a choice when she opened one of the back doors. "Come on, don't worry." She encouraged when she saw his hesitation. Harry's parents had always told him not to trust strangers. But she wasn't really a stranger, was she? He didn't know her personally, but he knew she wasn't dangerous…was she? "You're going to catch a cold like this. Come on!"

Harry was chilled to the bones. Every part of him was trembling and he couldn't feel his fingers or toes. In the end, he decided the woman looked much too gentle to be a big bad wolf, and he jumped up to the high seats of the 4x4 car.

As soon as he'd pulled the door closed behind him, the woman turned around in her seat to look at him.

"Thank you." Harry told her timidly as he fixed the floor, which his feet couldn't reach.

"With pleasure." The woman smiled. It was a warm smile, though more contained and elegant than Mrs. Weasley's. It made Harry more uncomfortable. "Draco recognized you, and I could never let a kid walk alone in this weather, you poor child."

Harry's eyes widened in surprise and directed them at the only person who's name could be Draco. But he did not get a chance to see the cold and mocking grey eyes again. Malfoy stubbornly turned away as he talked to his mother. "I didn't say you could let him into the car." He muttered unhappily.

"Draco!" She scolded. "Have some manners."

The ten-year old simply shrugged, and the woman didn't seem to want to start another fight in front of her guest, so she smiled apologetically at Harry and turned back to peer through the windshield.

"So…" She paused and turned back to the raven.

"Harry." He offered, understanding her questioning look.

"Harry," she repeated and turned the engine back on. "Where is your home? We need to get you back to your parents so that they can get you dry as quickly as possible. It's really unhealthy for a boy your age to be exposed to such dreadful weather."

Harry heard the same tone in her voice as Mrs. Weasley's whenever she commented about the seemingly lack of concern from his 'parents'. He'd never come up with the courage to tell her his real situation, or even his two new friends.

Harry hoped the woman wouldn't want to meet his 'parents'. He debated quickly whether he should give her a wrong address to make sure she'd never cross paths with the Durlseys, but he was too cold and tired to invent one, or to walk home in the pouring rain after she dropped him off somewhere else. "Number four Privet Drive." He told her.

She nodded and they were off. It was really only a few streets further, but she still insisted on making conversation. She was a woman who stood on manners and etiquette, and taking care of her guests was part of it. In that way, she reminded Harry a little of Lily Evans-Potter.

"Draco told me you attend the same school, but you seem much younger." She began politely.

"I'm seven, madam." Harry replied stiffly.

"Oh, you can call me Narcissa." She flashed a smile at him through the rear-view mirror. The raven nodded shyly. He'd gotten used to talking to Mrs. Weasley, but even so, he didn't feel very comfortable around adults.

Narcissa Malfoy tried to get her son to say something a few times, but the boy was determinedly keeping his mouth shut and his arms crossed, moodily glaring in front of him. It was better that way anyway, Harry thought. The only thing that could ever come out of his mouth was an insult. Clearly, like with Ron, that was no option in front of his mother, and the raven was thankful for that.

In the end, Narcissa gave up on trying to get the boys to get along and had to let Harry go. He thanked her profusely, apologised for soaking her seats, and quickly ran to the door. But he immediately noticed something strange: there was no light. Usually, at this time, they were clustered in front of the television, watching some boring variety show. They left the door unlocked for they didn't want to get up to let Harry in, or give him a key. Harry frowned in confusion as he turned the knob and pushed.

Nothing moved.

He tried again, not believing that the Dursleys would go so far as to leave, knowing he would be locked out.

Apparently, they had. Or they had simply forgotten him. It seemed to be their goal in life to make him invisible, or at least miserable.

The raven felt a sudden and overwhelming urge to cry. After the detention, the cold and the rain, the stressful encounter with his enemy's mother, he could not take the realization that he would spend the next few hours, maybe even the whole night out here. He was sure to freeze to death!

"Are you locked out, Harry?"

Narcissa had run up to the door behind Harry with a magazine covering her head. She looked surprised and concerned. Harry hadn't realized the car hadn't left yet. He didn't know what to tell her. How would he explain this?

"Uh, I think they're gone." He said. "Probably a misunderstanding." He added sheepishly.

The woman pursed her lips. She seemed both surprised at the young boy's vocabulary, and suspicious of his words. But keeping to good manners, she did not enquire further and instead, offered him to take him to her home, where he could change into a dry pair of clothes and call his parents.

Harry found no other option than to accept. What would she think if he insisted on staying out there in the wind and rain and dark? Besides, it's not like he wanted to. But he wasn't sure if accepting her proposition would worsen his situation with his family. They seemed to dislike anything that made Harry happy, and everyone who wasn't horrible with him.

The raven boy followed Malfoy's mother passively, all the way to her home, where she immediately set out to find him some clothes. She took him with her up the beautiful marble stairs in the largest house Harry had ever visited. There were even rugs on the floor. It felt wonderful to Harry to walk on them in his socks and dig his toes into them.

"I kept some of Draco's old clothes here somewhere…" She mused aloud as she rifled through a closet in what looked like a guest room (there was no sign of any personal belongings).

A few minutes later, Harry had changed into a fresh set of clothes and Mrs. Malfoy (as he'd started calling her for it felt more comfortable) had wrapped a towel around his head. He sat on the couch in the beautiful living room (Aunt Petunia would've turned green at the sight of the furniture), and sipped a cup of delicious warm milk. The boy whose name, Harry had just learned, was Draco, was sunk into a single armchair, his untouched milk getting cold on the table in front of him. He seemed in a thunderous mood and had refused to say a word, even to his mother.

Harry shifted uncomfortably. Even the feathery-soft cushions couldn't put him at ease in this climate. He wasn't sure if he was sorry for invading on the grey-eyed boy's territory, or if he was irritated by his hostility.

"Harry, I haven't been able to reach either of the numbers you gave me." Mrs. Malfoy said as she walked in with her cell-phone in hand. "Are you sure you didn't mistake a digit?"

Harry nodded assuredly. He knew as he gave the numbers that no one would answer. The first one was the Durley's house phone, which they wouldn't take because they weren't home. The second one was his mother's cell-phone. Or _had_ been, anyway. It was obvious no one would answer that now, unless the number was given to another person.

The tired and worried mother sighed, not knowing what to do with a stranger's child in her home. Surely, his parents had to be worried sick not knowing where their little boy was, she thought. She knew by experience that she'd go crazy if she ever lost her Draco, her only son.

"All right then." She decided on the spot. "Both of you hop into the bath, and after dinner, off to bed."

Draco grumbled something intelligible, but if his expression was any indication, the words hadn't been of a kind nature. "Draco!" Narcissa Malfoy chastised. "Be a little more mature, will you. You're older but of the two of you, you act the most like a child."

That had hit a tender spot. What ten-year old likes to be called a child, and in front of their enemy? Grey-eyes immediately straightened, unconsciously trying to make himself look taller. Narcissa made sure to keep her amusement hidden.

"You know how to run a bath don't you?" Narcissa tried to make it sound as if she were appointing him a very complex and important task. "Make sure our guest has some pyjamas and a towel, and fill the bathtub while I prepare a quick meal." She added a blink for good measure. The blonde perked up and took his tasks seriously. It was not with a smile on his face that he took the dark-haired boy upstairs, but at least, he felt it was his responsibility as the older one to make sure the younger one had everything he needed. When Draco set out to do something, he did it well.

Once the two children under her care had washed separately and eaten their soup and sandwiches, Narcissa settled Harry into the guest-room. She felt it would be more than Draco could take if she let his room be invaded unwillingly. He'd clearly made an effort, it was enough.

Harry smiled as the kind and reserved woman bade him goodnight and closed the door. The sudden darkness didn't feel nearly as oppressive here as it did in his room at number four Privet Drive. Maybe it was because this room was so much bigger than any he'd had, he mused. His glasses were on the night stand so he couldn't really see, but just the fact that he was lying in a double bed made him realize how big the place was, and it was exhilarating.

He rolled to the other side of the bed, then spread out his limbs as if making an angel in the snow. It seemed like the bed had no boundaries. What a delicious feeling it was. And what a bliss to fall asleep after a hot bath, a full meal, a gentle 'goodnight' and with his head rested on a wonderfully fluffy pillow.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/n: **Thanks so much to _dracowillbeloved_ and _Elisa1020 _for reviewing! I was jumping up and down in excitement (practically ;D) Keep it coming, I thrive on it ^^ (Seriously, it's like a drug I believe, like an energy drink for authors)

* * *

**Chapter 5. Christmas to Remember**

One blissful night.

One sometimes wonders whether it is enough to live a life. Can we be satisfied with having a few wonderful moments? Can we get enough out of them to survive until the next moment arrives? Or should we be able to live each second to the fullest?

But if we do so, wouldn't life get too easy? Wouldn't we lose our ability to be grateful for the better times?

Those weren't any of the questions the young raven was asking himself. Yes, when he'd left Mrs. Malfoy's warm and comfortable home, he'd felt regret. He couldn't' deny he'd had one of the best nights in a long while. But he felt recharged by it, and ready to meet head on any obstacle in his way.

It was a naive feeling really. He'd felt cared for again. For that night only, he'd gotten what a child desperately needs to grow up. Of course, it hadn't lasted long. As soon as he was out the door, he never heard of the woman again. With a belly full of eggs and bacon, he'd set off to meet his own life, his own universe.

However sad it could be, at least he had Ron. And yes, he had to admit he'd started to like Hermione too. It was tough to love her, but she made it worthwhile with her strong sense of loyalty and helpfulness. It hurt his pride whenever she pointed out his mistakes, or his laziness, or anything he did wrong really, but it had helped him sometimes. Even Ron had been forced to admit it (though grudgingly) when she'd corrected both their homework and they'd gotten full marks, earning back some of their reputation with the teachers after their long period of detention.

By the end of October, Harry had gotten back in the good graces of Miss Sullivan. He knew so because she called for him to stay after classes one afternoon. His two friends had waited for him outside to walk to the gate together, as had become their daily ritual. (Mrs. Weasley was delighted that 'Ronnie' had made _two_ 'intelligent' friends.)

Harry had approached Miss Sullivan's desk warily, not sure if it would be something good or bad at first.

"Harry," she began with a sweet smile, "I must say, I've never seen anyone in my class with such literary skills. You're practically at a secondary school-level as to vocabulary and reading skills." Harry felt his cheeks flame. Living with the Dursleys had robbed him of his confidence and sense of self-worth, and he wasn't used to compliments anymore. Plus, he'd been praised by his parents before for his quick progress and interest in books, and it felt alien, even wrong to have someone else than them tell him such things.

"Harry!" Miss Sullivan called. The raven was rushed back to the present moment, aware his gaze had wandered off into his thoughts. His teacher seemed slightly annoyed, but she continued. "I'd recommend you follow an advanced class on literature, given by Miss Snape. Every Wednesday, starting in two weeks, she gives secondary-level class on literature. Normally, only her grade or above follow it, but I think you would be more than able to keep up."

The young raven smiled awkwardly, his emotions in conflict. On one hand, he was excited to learn more about the subject his father had loved so much. But on the other hand, the prospect of having lessons with _miss Snape_ of all teachers, was absolutely revolting, if not terrifying.

"This does not mean however," miss Sullivan continued in a more severe way, "that you are privileged. I still expect your full cooperation in my classes, especially in math, considering the results of your last test." Harry grimaced. He'd known he'd screwed up the test, but it still wasn't nice to hear. "I'll need your parents or guardian to sign this slip, and then you can start in two weeks. The book you will need to buy is also on the slip."

Miss Sullivan thrust a paper at him. Harry got a paper cut in his haste to catch it. He winced. Miss Sullivan misunderstood it as hesitation to accept her offer.

"Harry, it is a real opportunity and honour for a lowerclassman to be considered for this class." She began insisting, her eyes flashing at him. The raven got the feeling that Miss Sullivan wanted him to join for a personal reason, other than for his progress.

"Miss," he began tentatively, "I'm not sure my guardian will want to sign…" He trailed off. There was no need to add that they would never even buy the book needed for the course.

"Leave it to me." Miss Sullivan promptly replied. "I will call tonight and make them understand how important this is."

Well, maybe Miss Sullivan's determination would come in handy after all. Harry just wasn't sure how his Uncle and Aunt would react to someone trying to lecture them on how to raise their nephew. He felt reluctant to even show them the permission slip.

"I think you should really do it, Harry!" Hermione burst out the moment he'd come out the classroom and told them what the discussion had been about. "I mean, no one ever gets a chance like this! You can finally lift your grades with this class. But it'll be a lot of work. I think you should get that book tomorrow at the latest and start preparing for the first lesson. Miss Snape will certainly not tolerate any slacking off and…"

"Hermione!" Ron exclaimed, sighed and grunted all at the same time. "Would you leave him alone for, I don't know, maybe _half a bloody_ _second_?"

Hermione's mouth stopped moving, stuck in the middle of her last vowel. She seemed both shocked and annoyed. She snapped her lips together and shot daggers at Ron with her gaze.

"I don't see _you_ getting invited to join Miss Snape's class." She hissed. "Since you don't have any notion of hard work, _someone_ has to tell Harry he has to make an effort."

Again, an internal struggle was visible in Ron's eyes at the mention of the word 'notion'. He had an excellent collection of curse words at the ready (courtesy of Fred and George), but the more sophisticated vernacular wasn't his forte. Harry thought it was slightly unfair of Hermione to attack his weak spots, but he'd started getting uncomfortable at these sudden squabbles that exploded between his two friends, and he preferred to avoid getting caught up in them. Being the subject was bad enough, and having them both look at him expectantly, urging him to take their side, was even worse.

The redhead and the bushy-head kept snapping at each other all the way to the gate of the school (now that they could finally leave with everyone else again). At that point, the presence of Mrs. Weasley promptly shut them both up. Hermione thrust her delicate nose into the air and marched off to her mother, who waved smilingly at Mrs. Weasley, who waved back with equalled enthusiasm.

"The Grangers are such refined people." Mrs. Weasley commented as the herd of red-haired lions, and the single black raven made their way home once again.

Ron grunted discontentedly. His mother had already told him to be nice to girls and listen to 'the intelligent and accomplished young lady' (which had made him choke on his apple, though not because of the big words this time). He knew he had to be careful about complaining about Hermione around Mrs. Weasley.

Harry couldn't help but be amused by all these family scuffles. Spending so much time with the Weasleys really was entertaining. And he fervently wished he could spend even more time with them. He'd been invited to join them several times for dinner, or come over to play during the weekends. But Harry hadn't yet gathered enough courage to ask his Uncle. Partly because he was afraid to end up in a hospital bed, and partly because he knew the answer would be a straight and simple 'no'. He preferred to keep on dreaming of a possible future, than have any hope taken away from him once he'd taken a step forward.

That evening, Harry had difficulty swallowing his dinner. And what a waste it was. It was one of the rare times his plate was filled with fresh and tasty things, and now he couldn't enjoy it because he was so nervous. The call from his teacher hadn't come yet, but any second, the phone could ring, and his Uncle's wrath would be felt.

After dinner, the Dursleys settled into the comfortable couch in front of the television. They were watching the news. Harry sometimes listened as he sat on the stairs outside of the room. He didn't know what he was listening for, but he knew he was disappointed each time.

And suddenly, there it was. The shrill sound of the phone in the living room. The raven's heart began beating a little bit faster, his fingers gripped the wood of the banister. Aunt Petunia could be heard complaining loudly while the sound of the television grew softer.

Harry stood up and leaned against the door, trying to catch the words, to feel the mood in there, so that he knew whether to run and hide. But Dudley was making too much noise as he ate another bag of chips. Harry mumbled a few of the redheaded twins curse words under his breath.

"HARRY!"

_Trouble!_ Harry's heart jumped out of his chest, along with his stomach and they both ran up the stairs without him. His legs stayed glued on the spot as the door flew open, showing a red-faced Petunia. Was the red colour due to her anger, or shame?

"Were you listening at the door?" She accused with a mistrustful eye.

"No," Harry stuttered, attempting to defend himself, "you…you called me."

His aunt did not seem fooled. She pursed her lips, gripped the boy's arm and pulled him to the centre of the room, where he stood frozen in place.

"What's wrong?" Vernon grumbled as he detached his gaze from the screen. Dudley too was interested. He always was when Harry was in trouble.

"That was the boy's teacher on the phone." Aunt Petunia announced. "She asked whether we'd already signed the permission slip."

"Permission for what?" Vernon sat up straight and shot a leery glance Harry's way.

"A class." Petunia sniffed and crossed her arms. "An advanced course in literature. She also said to buy a book at Hatchards." Aunt Petunia looked like the calm before the storm. She was simply stating the facts, but it was clear what was bubbling under to surface.

"What's 'Hatchards'?" Dudley asked, bits of crisps falling to the floor. Aunt Petunia closed her eyes at the sight, trying to control the urge to clean it up right away. She had other priorities at the moment.

Both his uncle and aunt looked puzzled and unable to answer their son's question. Harry's legs felt like they were about to give out. He needed to get this over with as soon as possible. "It's a bookstore in London." He volunteered. "The oldest one in fact." He added hastily, then thought he really shouldn't have. His Uncle and Aunt didn't look pleased at being taught by a seven-year old.

"Who said you could speak, boy!" Uncle Vernon boomed.

The raven bowed his head. Would it help? Would it get him out of trouble?

"Vernon." Petunia said. "We have to buy him the book."

"What?" He yelled and she jumped.

"This Sullivan woman called personally. I had to agree. What would they think if I'd said no?" Petunia fretted.

"I don't know! You should have found an excuse!" Vernon raged. "If you think I am going to ride all the way to the centre of Bloody London to buy a bloody book…"

Harry's aunt hastened to Dudley's side, who seemed afraid of his father's loud voice. She took him in her arms and looked sternly at her husband.

"Just the one book and we're rid of him for two nights a week." She argued, taking care not to look at Harry, who still stood on the same spot, wiping his sweaty palms on his trousers.

Uncle Vernon on the other did look at the raven-boy. An intention seemed to form in his mind to chuck something at him. There was a long silence before he finally said, "Fine! I'll get it this weekend!" He bellowed, frustrated by his defeat. "But no dinner for two weeks, and straight to your room when you come home. I do _not_ want to see that untidy head of yours!" He ordered Harry.

Green-eyes nodded fervently and skipped out of the room before anyone could make a move. He was quick on his legs and had joined his heart and stomach, who had deserted him previously, in his room.

_Yes!_ He yelled silently in triumph. He would be learning all about his father's passion! He would be learning about the big books he'd seen in his study back home, about the stories he'd read aloud in the living room to him and his mother.

He didn't care anymore that the class was with Miss Snape. He'd won a battle against the Dursleys. They'd had to give him what he wanted. And he'd gotten it without a scratch. It was a definite victory for the little raven.

The sweet taste of it lasted until the actual class. With his book ready, Hermione's advice and Ron's encouragements, Harry had felt prepared enough. He had silently taken place in the back for he did not know anyone who was present. They were all older and towering over him. And worst of all, Malfoy was there. He also took the class, which suddenly made it much less appealing.

But his heart sank and his bravery was tested when the door slammed open and Miss Snape appeared in the classroom. She walked to the front of the room in a few strides and placed a hand on her desk, facing them all and instantly silencing them all.

Harry had not been noticed by anyone yet. He could observe well from his position. He could see Malfoy eagerly looking up at Miss Snape from his front seat. Harry had never thought him to be the model student type, but he was aware of him sucking up to his teacher. Harry wondered what he got out of it.

"I hope, for your own good, that you all brought your books." Miss Snape began in a voice deserving of an ice queen. "If you want to pass my class, you'll have to keep up. I do not tolerate stragglers. I will not tolerate absences. I will not tolerate delays, unsatisfactory work and anything less than absolute dedication."

Harry immediately began to feel uncertain. As he listened for another half hour to Miss Snape talking about the mounds of homework she would give and whatever else she would not tolerate, the courage and enthusiasm he'd steadily built up in the last two weeks were crumbling at an alarming rate. His only consolation was that other students around him seemed to be facing the same panic attacks.

"Potter!" Miss Snape suddenly called after a long rant about the reading list. Harry jumped in his seat and nearly knocked his book of his desk. He caught it at the last minute and hastily straightened his glasses while everyone turned to look at him.

His eyes looked up at the only ones he knew among the strange sea, the grey ones. The white-head looked surprised to find Harry there, his lips slightly parted.

Miss Snape advanced to Harry's desk and stopped right in front of him. Everyone held their breaths. "I was told to make an exception for you." And she sounded like 'displeased' was an enormous understatement for the emotion she was feeling right then. "But it will be the _only_ one. I expect the same of you as everyone present. You will read every single book on my list and write every single essay, or you're out. Is that understood?"

Harry nodded. Then added hastily, "Yes, Miss Snape."

Miss Snape didn't seem happy that he was not putting up more of a fight, but she let it go. She simply took the book that Uncle Vernon had bought at Hatchards with her, back to the front of the class, where she held it open for everyone to see. She explained the basic structure of it and then returned it to Harry.

In their first class, they immediately started on the 18th century German literature. The periods of enlightment and 'Sturm und Drang', along with the French revolution as background. None of them had ever even heard of the French revolution, which had intensely exasperated Miss Snape; and she went as far as throwing someone's book out of the window and ordering him to never show his face again when he was unable to say where Germany was.

Harry was in a desolate state once the long class was over. The winter was well on its way, and it was late and dark and cold. He was discouraged, having to prepare a hundred pages in his textbook by the next lesson, and read one of the works by Goethe in two weeks.

Even for the ten and eleven-year olds taking the class, it was an enormous effort to make. Harry may have been able to read more swiftly, and understand more words than all of them, but this task simply seemed impossible. How could he keep up with such pace, along with all his other work?

That night, he immediately went to his room, as Uncle Vernon had instructed. He ate one of the muffins he'd hidden under his floorboard for the duration of his no-dinner punishment (luckily Mrs. Weasley had given him a whole basket of them to congratulate him on the start of his 'big course'), and immediately went to work. Until the hours of the early morning, he read through his textbook. And he did not understand a thing.

The next day was Saturday, and after a swift breakfast, he returned to his room and continued. The sentences were filled with difficult words. He understood most of them, but he had difficulty linking them together, understanding the information that was stored in the text. It took him three readings of the hundred pages to get a better view of what he was dealing with, but still, he did not know how he could ever memorize all of it. So many names, so many dates, so much information!

By the next week, he'd consulted Hermione at school. She'd been just as impressed with the difficulty level as he had been. But she agreed to look it over with him during playtimes, while Ron sat around, sighing of boredom and playing with his feet.

It was incredibly hard work, and he'd had to go to the library to get a card and loan one of Goethe's works. But by the time his first literature lesson of the week had come, he was ready. He could answer every question Miss Snape threw at him (and only at him, which made him dislike her even more). Some of the other students seemed impressed, but most snorted and laughed at the little brat who had sneaked its way into their group. Harry didn't like any of them much. They were all looking for prestige, looking for a way to get into the best schools by participating in this extra-curricular course. Unfortunately for them, it was the worst reason, for without the proper interest and motivation, they fell like flies during the first weeks.

A month later, only a handful was left. Draco Malfoy had surprised Harry by still being present, and by showing an actual interest and talent in the subject. Miss Snape certainly made sure to accentuate this fact, while she dismissed Harry's efforts. The sense of unfairness which made the raven's claws come out was there again, and he found it harder and harder to not lose control and snap at Miss Snape. But he knew that she would throw him out at the tiniest comment, and he really wanted to stay. Miss Snape was an awful person, but she was an efficient teacher. Harry was learning more than he'd learned in all his life.

In this flurry of activity and constant study, Christmas break had come before he was able to hear it sneaking up on him. The last week at school was a hard one for the raven. Everyone was looking forward to the parties and the presents and seeing family and playing together. Mrs. Weasley was very busy planning her holidays and dinners every time she came to pick up the Weasley bunch and Harry at the gate. She talked about fillings and decorations and family members Harry had never heard of. Ron, the twins and Ginny commented merrily about some names, and moaned at others. It sounded like there was an aunt that no one really wanted to see.

The raven kept quiet during all those times. Because he wanted to see the aunt, he wanted to see all of the family members. He wanted to see the wonderful cake that Mrs. Weasley would bake. He didn't want to be abandoned, left alone for two whole weeks. He would have to do chores all the time, he would have to stay locked up in his room and work for Miss Snape's incessant high demands. The best case scenario was that the Dursleys would go away for Christmas, and even then, Harry would be left alone in the house, with a can of ravioli he wasn't allowed to heat up, a television he wasn't allowed to touch, a living room he wasn't allowed to use.

In fact, he had a suspicion that aunt Petunia would lock him up in his room if they went away, just so that she wouldn't have to worry about all the places he had touched with his 'filthy bastard hands'. But she couldn't do that, could she? What if he needed to go to the bathroom? They'd locked him up in the past, but that had only been for a night at most. If they left him for more than twenty-four hours, how was he supposed to survive?

Just to make sure, the raven had started to inspect the front of the house, where his window was. He'd been looking for a way to use if he needed to get out through the window, if only to relieve his basic needs. He deliberated that Petunia's Cherry tree wasn't too far from it. With a well-calculated jump, he could grab onto the sturdiest branch and climb down.

As the holiday approached, the planning took in more of his time, and Harry found himself enjoying it. He felt like he was preparing a great escape from this hell, like there was even a slight hope of getting away from it. He made a game of it to sneak food from the cellar into his room in the middle of the night, and stashed some of Dudley's chocolate and crisps under his floorboard. Only tiny amounts of course, so that no one would notice anything was missing.

And when his day of school, planning, chores, and studying was over, he made a habit of taking out his magician book. The pages of it had become more precious than most things he possessed, except the hidden pictures of course. He caressed the hard cover as he lay in bed, as if he could absorb the words through his fingers. The wise magician, whose name was Dumbledore by the way, would always stay with him. Harry never read the last pages, and Dumbledore lived on forever, and guided him into sleep every night.

The last day of school passed by, and it was with a twisting heart that Harry said goodbye to his two friends at the gate. Because that day, Mr. Weasley came to pick the family up in what Ron said was a ministry car. Mr. Weasley was an even stranger man than Harry had imagined. He'd shown him an odd trick which involved a rubber duck. It was supposed to fall out of Harry's sleeve, but it had somehow ended up on top of Mrs. Weasley's impressive feathered hat.

The whole family was going straight to yet another aunt after school for afternoon tea. Harry was impressed that the bunch of them could even fit in that car, even if it was a minivan. But the older siblings were already at said aunt, so it only had to hold the two parents, Fred and George, and Ginny and Ron.

Mr. Weasley was just as jovial and inviting as his wife, and he offered multiple times to give Harry a lift home. But the last thing the raven wanted was for his situation to be known. He still wasn't sure why the thought of it terrified him so much. What he knew for certain was that his friends and the Weasleys were wonderful people, and he loved being with them, while the Dursleys represented everything that was awful. He wished to keep those two very different worlds separated at any cost; for fear that one would somehow contaminate the other.

Moreover, he'd felt people's pity before, when he was still in Rebecca's care. He'd hated that feeling. It was false, and denigrating, and empty. He didn't want Ron to stop sharing his life, his food, his friendship with him. He didn't want Mrs. Weasley to stop inviting him, even if he never came.

All that would crumble if the truth came out; that his parents had been murdered only a few months before and that he currently lived with extended family who loathed him.

And so, Hermione and Ron had walked off into the sunset with their parents, and Harry had made his way through the park, and then home.

As it turned out, the best case scenario had been too much to hope for. The Dursleys wouldn't go away for Christmas; instead, they were inviting over one of Uncle Vernon's superiors and his family. Harry understood that it was somehow a plot to get him a promotion, resulting in Petunia being even more of a control freak than she'd been until then. The raven was given loads of chores. The house was to be cleaned from top to bottom, including every corner of the cellar. (Aunt Petunia was planning a tour of the entire house.) He was even instructed to clean _Dudley's_ room, which was morbidly disgusting. Harry was afraid he would get nightmares after that.

The upside was that he did not have to spend Christmas with them, nor did he have to help with the cooking. Of course, they did not want the filthy ungrateful freak to be present at such an important and pivotal moment n their petty little lives, and he'd shown many times that he was a dreadful cook. Aunt Petunia didn't trust him within a range of five meters of the kitchen, which also ruled out the dining room. He was exiled to his room once more (Harry was getting the feeling he was living in his room, as some kind of housemaid), and ate all his meals there too.

The raven didn't mind though. His room was the best place of the house anyway. He found that as long as he did what he was told and stayed out of their way, he was left pretty much alone too, free to do what he wanted and to complete his work.

But.

Oh yes, there was a grand 'but'. It was, once more, Dudley who ruined Harry's peaceful plan.

The day before Christmas eve, the bully cousin was frustrated because there were no more of his favourite cookies left. On any day, his mother would have run to the store to get more, but she was too busy preparing desert for the next day while his father was still at work.

Harry was dusting the banister of the stairs when he saw his cousin break his toy robot in anger in the first-floor hallway, which angered Dudley even more. The raven sniggered (the two last cookies were stored under _his_ floorboard after all), and before he could stop himself, Dudley had chucked the broken robot at Harry.

The hard plastic object hit him square on the temple. The wild-haired boy lost his balance and toppled backwards. Trying to grab onto the banister, his arm ended up in between the bars and it was twisted in an unhealthy way before he rolled all the way to the bottom of the stairs, where he landed right at Uncle Vernon's feet, who had just stepped through the front door.

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Pfiiiiieeew. The longest chapter yet. Put some work in this one. Tell me what you think, please =D


	6. Flash Forward

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**Warning! This is a flash-forward! Spoiler Alert!**

By the way, it's a slightly more intimate scene between our two protagonists ;D

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"You can fake it?" Draco asked.

"Of course." Harry shrugged. He put down his half-drunken glass on the table and walked straight up to Draco. Before grey-eyes was able to express his surprise, green-eyes had climbed onto his lap and straddled him. The raven's face was expressionless, almost lifeless. His eyes closed and his fingers slid up Draco's chest, settling on his shoulders.

Draco was completely lost, not understanding a thing that was happening. His conscience told him there must be something wrong with Harry, and that he needed to shake him awake or something, before he did something he regretted. But another part of him was screaming and swearing at his conscience, telling it to shut up and let it all happen. It was the part that had desired the raven-like boy for years, that had craved to grasp a few strands of that pure-black hair and pull it back to expose the thin pale skin of his throat.

Draco's emotions were battling for supremacy while he continued to be mesmerized by Harry, whose fingers had started to tense upon his shoulders, clutching his shirt. With his eyes still closed he began to writhe slightly and let out whispers of moans. Draco's first thought was that Harry was somehow in pain, and he started to panic, wondering what was wrong. But then Harry threw his head back and began moaning more loudly, which had the effect of sending a shock-wave of heat through Draco's body.

And then, the raven began to grip even more tightly, and something like broken cries sounded in between the moans, while at times, he stopped breathing entirely, as if he felt something so intense his airflow was cut off.

Draco didn't know if Harry was feeling pleasure or pain, or a mixture of the two. But at the sound of the half-sobs coming from the lips right in front of him, he could barely remember his concern for the raven's hurt. The sounds, the tension, the movements, they were all driving him crazy. The idea of Harry being in pain made the tension in his lower stomach rise to unprecedented heights.

He wasn't sure why. It sounded wrong to be so turned on by that. Maybe it was because it made Harry seem more vulnerable, or more innocent… Yes, something like that. It made him sound like he was inexperienced, like he was a _virgin._ It made Draco feel as if he was the first and the only one to ever have had the immense pleasure of feeling Harry's thighs on his.

The feverish desire was making grey-eyes feel dizzy. With the last bit of sanity Harry had been kind enough to leave him, Draco was able to grab the raven's shoulders and lift him off his lap and onto the couch next to him. Harry snapped out of his act and opened his eyes, seemingly unaffected by what had just happened.

Draco felt embarrassment light up his face and hid it in his hands as he bent over to try and cover up the evidence of Harry's obvious skill. At that point, Draco did not have a doubt in mind that Harry was bringing home a _shitload _of money to SH.

His arousal and embarrassment were almost instantly wiped away by an ugly surge of jealousy at the idea of all the men Harry had done this to. He'd sat on _their_ laps and they had watched with greedy eyes and touched his flawless body and…

Draco swore under his breath, still keeping his face in his hands, but now to hide his rage rather than his desire. Though both had the same source, somewhere deep in his heart, at the core of his being. A liking that had been planted the day the boy had yelled at him not to break the swings, and had steadily evolved to a stronger liking, to love, to passion and now to a full-blown obsession.

The scene that had just played out on his couch was more than proof enough that Harry had complete power over him. A simple word or sound, a single look from those green orbs could completely fuck up Draco's mind, rip out his heart and put it back in his chest inside out.

His first priority, stemming out of his fear and distrust of anyone close to him, was not to expose all this emotional turmoil, not to show any sign of it to the one sitting next to him, the one he could barely keep himself from touching.

Draco jumped to his feet, making sure to keep his back turned to his childhood friend as he stiffly stalked off towards the bathroom with his hands clenched at his sides. If he wanted to get his head clear enough to think properly before dawn, he needed to take care of his physical needs first. It was the quickest way to get what Harry had awoken out of his system.

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How was this little taste of the future, huh? Did it make you guys curious?

I would love some feedback on this one ^^

Pretty please and lots of thank you's!


	7. Chapter 6

**A/n: **Thank you everyone for the support and reviews! I loved it!

And I feel like thanking J.K. Rowling today too. I don't know what my life would have been like without the wonderful world she created.

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**Chapter 6**

**Christmas to Remember (part 2)**

It was the most horrible Christmas' Eve the raven had ever had to suffer through.

This one phrase pretty much said it all.

Uncle Vernon had been absolutely furious at Harry when he'd found him on the floor, despite the fact that it was _him_ who was lying at the bottom of the stairs, moaning and clutching his arm, and not 'Dudders'. Vernon Dursley's moustache had bristled as his complexion went from red to a kind of purple. The colour had reminded Harry of the wine his parents had sometimes drunk at dinner. He'd once told them he felt left out. They'd said they would buy him his very own wine.

It had taken him a few weeks to find out the wine they poured in his glass was actually grape juice. When a classmate brought some to school for his birthday, he recognized the taste instantly. He'd intended to tell his parents when he came home, but for some reason, he hadn't said a word about it.

It was nothing but a memory though. It didn't even feel real to Harry anymore, and certainly not while he was lying on Aunt Petunia's rug in the hallway. It felt like his life with his parents had been a story, a long story he'd plunged into deeply. But in fact, he'd always been locked up in a bedroom at the Durlsey's.

"What have you done this time, boy!" Uncle Vernon's voice boomed from high above the raven's head. A large bloated hand swooped down and grabbed Harry's collar, lifting him up and choking him momentarily, until he stood shakily on his feet again, keeping a tight grip on his arm. His shoulder was hurting so much he felt his eyes beginning to water.

Harry bit down hard. He knew that crying in front of his family would not help him in the least, quite the opposite. And the humiliation would make everything worse.

"You got blood on the rug!" Aunt Petunia screeched as she spotted a tiny patch of scarlet on the floor.

The raven glanced down. Indeed, there it was. He was confused for a moment. He wasn't sure where it could've come from. Then he lifted his uninjured arm to the side of his head. His fingertips came away with the same colour.

It was Dudley's robot. The hard plastic edge had pierced the soft skin of the raven's forehead. It was a very superficial wound, and Harry didn't even feel it. The pain of his shoulder was overshadowing everything. It was more intense than any pain he'd felt before.

"Our guests are coming tomorrow! I don't have time to clean up _blood_!" Aunt Petunia raged on as Uncle Vernon decided what to do.

"That's it, boy!" He thundered, he never addressed Harry in any other way. "Go to your bloody room and don't you come out until after Christmas!"

Uncle Vernon's eyes stayed fixed on Harry, waiting for him to obey the orders. But Harry couldn't move. He had to ask, he had to do something. His shoulder felt like it had been pulled out, and he didn't seem to be able to breathe properly, no matter how much he inhaled. The shock of the fall and the pain and the strange feeling of his shoulder not being in place were making him shaky on his legs. He desperately needed help.

"I…I…" He stuttered, clutching his injured arm, for he had no control over it.

"What?" Aunt Petunia asked before Vernon could speak again. Her voice was dimmer, but it was much sharper, colder.

The raven stood there, with Dudley on the stairs, Petunia Dursley on one side and Vernon Dursley on the other, all looking on impatiently, while he tried with all his might to keep his composure. If he'd been at home with Lily and James, he would have burst into tears a long time ago, and his mother would have already taken care of him, whispered sweet words and kissed his bruises or cuts.

Obviously, things had changed. So much had changed. Anger, loneliness, hatred, loathing even, had found their way into his heart, had burdened him with more than physical pain ever could. In a way, he'd had much worse. If it meant he could get some things he wished back, he would gladly suffer through this kind of pain every week.

"It…it hurts." He whimpered. His voice was shaky from the threatening tears. How could it be that it _hurt_ so much!

"What a sissy!" Dudley yelled in triumph, thinking his aim had done the job and his cousin was complaining from his head wound.

"Dudders!" Aunt Petunia hissed immediately. "Watch your language! I don't want any of it when our guests come tomorrow. And _you_," she turned back to the hunched little figure in the hallway, "don't play such comedy! It's just a scratch. Get it cleaned up before you make any more stains!"

With that, she turned on her heels with her Dudders. Uncle Vernon backed her order, and then Harry had to move out of the way for he lifted the rug from the floor and took it into the basement for cleaning.

The hallway was suddenly empty and silent. Darkness had fallen outside, and Harry could see lights through the glazed glass of the front door. The beautifully twinkling Christmas lights. Everyone was looking forward to the next day, to the holidays. He imagined Ron in a big house filled with loud redheads, running after each other and throwing snowballs; Mrs Weasley screaming in horror and telling them to go outside.

And Hermione, she would probably be looking forward to getting new books for Christmas, or a new day planner. Harry wasn't sure if she had a lot of family, but two parents was more than he could wish for.

At least, the agony he felt in his shoulder was keeping his mind off his deeper ache. Though for once he'd actually really needed Aunt Petunia's help, the one time he was prepared to beg for it, and she'd turned him away like every other time. Hadn't she seen his situation?

No. She'd only looked at Dudders, made sure her own son wasn't injured or displeased. And of course, the little blood spot on the carpet was enough to make her forget everything else.

The raven steadied himself and walked up the stairs. Now that no one was looking or listening, he allowed himself to cry quietly. He couldn't move his arm, and when he tried, it hurt even more.

He went into the bathroom and twisted around in front of the mirror to see what was wrong. His shoulder felt so strange. His eyes widened in horror when he saw it was slightly deformed. There was something sticking out under his skin, a bump at the back of his shoulder. _What is that? _He panicked. Was his arm going to fall off? What was wrong with it?

The blood on his forehead had partially dried up already. He cleaned it quickly with his one available hand, and then cleaned the cloth too. After that, he had no choice but to go to his room.

The night was horrible. The raven barely slept. Aunt Petunia had brought him some sandwiches at dinner time, and surprisingly, a pain-killer. Well, maybe not that surprising. She simply wanted him to shut it and not bother them. Thinking that he only had a little headache, she'd thought a pill would do the trick.

Despite the painkiller, he wasn't able to lie down properly. He could breathe at least, but any movement or slight touch to his shoulder sent pain through it like an arrow. The sharpness of the ache often surprised him at such times and he cried out before he could stop himself. To not get himself in trouble, he lay face down on his pillow, so that sudden outbursts would be stifled by it. And that was pretty much all the raven could do.

Harry was exhausted the next morning. Of course, the painkiller had worn off during the night, and his shoulder was acting up again. He imagined the pain was caused because it was slowly rotting, decomposing, turning black and green. But he didn't dare look in the mirror again. The sight of his deformed shoulder had shocked him too much.

Around noon, Aunt Petunia brought him some food, for he was still not allowed downstairs.

"A…a…aunt." Harry managed to choke out. He'd never addressed any of the Dursley family, not by name or any other way. And they'd only ever called him 'boy' or 'brat' or 'bloody brat'. He hoped she would notice his efforts. He still hated every one of them, but he just wanted the pain to stop, only that, nothing else. He wanted to be relieved and go to sleep. He'd sleep through the entire holiday.

Yes, that sounded very good to the raven.

Petunia Durlsey did notice the change in her nephew's behaviour, but did not have enough time or interest to give him. She only had a few hours to bring the finishing touches to her big Christmas dinner plans.

"What?" She snapped. "If you got blood on your sheets, hurry and clean it up."

"No." Harry moaned. He was slightly rocking back and forth on his bed. He'd been doing it since four in the morning, to try and push back the pain. "I…can I go to the emergency room?"

He didn't want to tell his aunt what was wrong with him. He was scared she would accuse him of lying and try to look for herself. He was afraid she'd touch his shoulder, knowing she would not bother with gentleness. If a butterfly landing on it hurt, he would crumble if she touched him. Maybe she'd allow him to walk by himself to the hospital. He could do that. Anything for a little relief, anything for some help.

"Are you still complaining?" Aunt Petunia looked like she was seeing a rat, crawling around her kitchen, desiring nothing more than to smack it dead. "Why would I let you go to the emergency room? So you can say how horrible we are, how you are such a little victim, while we took you in when your…_mother_ got herself killed?" She spoke the word 'mother' with obvious disgust. "I never should have let that social worker guilt me into this. I tried to get some manners into you, to undo the damage your parents have done, but you're _just_ like that _James_, aren't you." Her face contorted into an ugly grimace. She took something from the pocket of her apron and put it down on Harry's small desk (which was more like a wobbly table). "Here! And don't you dare leave this room tonight! I cannot have my guests lay eyes on _you_."

The door slammed shut behind her. But Harry didn't hear the lock turn.

His heart was beating fast. His aunt's expression, her words, her attitude… he had never expected much better from her. But the little raven was in a vulnerable position. He was young, lost, inexperienced and scared. He'd turned to the only person he could think of, hoping that somewhere, his aunt was a little bit like her sister, and would find some kind of sympathy, or even pity in her heart.

But no. There was nothing. When the raven had turned to her, his heart heavy, his wings drooping, he'd been kicked in the stomach. She'd insulted him and his parents, right there, without scruples and remorse. He cried some more.

After an hour or so of shedding tears, the raven remembered she'd left him something. He got up to take a look at it. It was another pain-killer. He almost choked on it in his haste to swallow it. It finally relieved him a little; enough for him to lie down carefully and rest for a while.

The blanket of night had covered Little Whinging, and downstairs, the voices of the guests could be heard along with some Christmas carols playing over the expensive stereo in the living room, when the raven was pulled out of his shallow slumber by the ache in his shoulder. He moaned again, not pleased that the relief was over.

He began rocking back and forth again, the trance the movement put him in had helped a little before. He was able to listen to the voices for a long while. Until the faint smell of roasted turkey and oven-baked potatoes wafted up the stairs and into his room. His stomach felt empty because he hadn't been able to eat much. He still couldn't bring up much appetite despite the wonderfully tasty smell. The pain took up too much of his energy and attention. But he had no pain-killer anymore. And if he dared set a foot in the living room or even the kitchen to ask for one, he was sure aunt Petunia would skin him alive.

The young raven did not feel capable of living through another night like the previous one. It was too awful for him. He craved his mother's warm arms, his father's reassuring grins. But he knew that if he took out the pictures from under his floorboard, he would only cry more. There was no solace in them.

Who could he turn to then? Mrs. Weasley? Harry was certain she would gasp at the sight of him, take care of his shoulder and stuff him full of food. And though he would enjoy her motherly warmth, he didn't think he could handle the questions she would certainly ask and the critique she would give about his parents who, she thought, weren't taking care of him. After aunt Petunia's mean words, Harry didn't want to hear one more bad word about Lily and James.

And what if Mrs. Weasley insisted to bring him back to his home herself, to meet his parents and tell them exactly what she thought of people who let their child wander around the streets on Christmas' eve with a wrong shoulder? Harry would have to explain to her he only had the Durlseys. And the Dursleys would be furious with him.

It occurred to Harry then, that there was another woman who had helped him in his hour of need, who had not asked any questions, and who had respected his wishes. The problem was that he wasn't really supposed to go back there. It was his enemy's territory. Malfoy would never accept it. And Mrs. Malfoy had only taken him in because she'd had no other option. Would she do the same if he showed up on her doorstep? Or would she send him home? Would she bring him home and have to meet the Durlseys?

If anyone brought Harry home while aunt Petunia's long-expected guests were there... How would she explain to them that they actually had a skinny nephew who hadn't been allowed to join the dinner party and had wandered the streets alone at night?

Well, she'd probably say he was a delinquent or something along those lines. It was what she seemed to tell the neighbours in any case.

Enough thinking! Harry was hurting too much to waste time on 'what if's. He stood up, careful to keep his arm immobile, and slipped out of the room as carefully as he could, then tiptoed down the stairs, avoiding the creaking ones (thanks to his nightly expeditions to the cellar, he knew which ones to skip over). In a matter of minutes, he was through the hallway and out the front door, into the cold wintry air.

He wasn't sure what time it was, but he thought it wasn't past dinnertime yet. SO there was a risk that he would be interrupting an important family dinner. Maybe the father would be there this time, Harry thought. It wouldn't make things easier. If Mrs. Malfoy's husband was there, maybe he would throw Harry out when his wife seemed too gentle to the stray child.

It was solely the pain that drove the raven to gather up his courage and make his way to the grand house's front door. Now that he thought of it, he couldn't have gone to Ron's house anyway, he had never been there and didn't know where it was. This was really the only place he could go.

There was music playing inside when he rang the doorbell; also Christmas carols, but they sounded more modern than the old classics aunt Petunia had selected. Light invaded the front yard and bathed Harry when the door opened. For a moment, Harry was unable to see who was standing in front of him, but the voice left no doubt.

"Harry." A young boy's voice. It was strangely void of any emotion. There was not even anger or annoyance. The raven would've expected him to insult him and slam the door in his face, but no such thing happened.

"Harry!" Mrs. Malfoy echoed a minute or so later as she came to see what took so long. She came up behind her son and put her hand gently to his neck as she nudged him sideways. "It's rude to let guests stand in the cold like that." She scolded, but her voice only radiated calm and gentleness. And…was it sadness that Harry heard?

Harry stepped forward hesitantly. Malfoy and his mother were both so clean and neat, their aristocratic elegance surrounding them, to the point that even Draco looked handsome to Harry, despite hating the owner of that pale blond head. It made Harry regret he hadn't taken a look at his appearance before coming. He hadn't changed clothes since his fall from the stairs. He'd tried but had ended up panting in agony, with one arm stuck in his collar with his neck, nearly choking himself. His hair was even worse than usual for he'd just woken up an hour ago. He felt extremely displaced, a black shabby black sheep among the immaculate white ones.

"Don't you have a warmer coat?" Mrs. Malfoy commented as she looked at the one sweater he was wearing, of which the sleeves were starting to get too short. Soon he wouldn't be able to fit in any of his clothes, but he doubted the Dursleys would buy him some, or even notice he'd grown out of his old ones.

"I forgot." Harry lied swiftly. He'd had practice with Mrs. Weasley over the first trimester.

"Let's get you nice and warm then. Would you like some warm milk or tea?" Even if her guest was only seven years old, Mrs. Malfoy was a woman of manners and etiquette.

"Uh…"Harry had never had tea. He felt excited at the idea of trying out something new, and of someone making it specially for him. Would he dare? "T…tea please." He smiled sheepishly.

They entered the living room with Draco sauntering behind. It was still as comfortable and grand-looking as last time, with the addition of a crackling fire illuminating the place. But Harry was surprised to find it empty, except for an old, stern-looking woman sitting in the most comfortable chair. It could only be a grandmother, Harry concluded, but was it Mrs. Malfoy's mother, or her husband's? Was her husband around then?

The raven had stopped in his tracks at the sight of the elderly lady with the same shockingly white hair as her grandson. Draco, who had been behind him let out a sigh of exasperation and walked past him energetically, bumping into his Harry's bad shoulder in the process.

A cry of pain escaped the dark-haired boy's throat. All three people present jumped in surprise and stared at him with wide eyes. The first gaze Harry met was Draco's. There was an entanglement of emotions showing in them, momentarily exposed because of the surprise. It took Draco a few seconds to regain his composure and his impenetrable façade of emptiness.

Mrs. Malfoy was the first to react. "Harry, you scared us!" She exclaimed with her hand flat over her heart. She glanced worriedly at the old lady, to see if she hadn't suffered a heart-attack. Satisfied with the look of indignation on the elderly woman's face, she turned back to the dark-haired child standing in the doorway of her living room. She quickly understood what had happened and her gaze fell on the problematic shoulder.

"What's this?" She demanded with a frown as she approached. Harry stepped back, turning his shoulder away from her in fear that she would touch it. "I'll only take a look, I promise." Mrs. Malfoy said in a practised voice. She'd learned enough from treating her headstrong son.

The woman with the long white braid crouched down beside the boy. "Could you pull your sweater out of the way, Harry?" She asked gently. Green-eyes did as she asked, very slowly and carefully. "Can you move it?" She inquired further.

"No." Harry shook his head. He looked up to see the grandmother sipping a cup of tea, and grey-eyes simply standing and staring in the same spot where he'd turned.

"Your shoulder's dislocated, dear." Mrs. Malfoy informed him gravely. She noticed the boy had no idea what it meant. "It means that the bone of your arm had popped out of the bone in your shoulder." She explained simplistically. Draco made a grimace.

"What are you saying?" The old woman said loudly and rather rudely from her place in the chair.

Narcissa stood up and turned to the lady. "I'm saying that I will need to make a quick stop at the hospital. This boy is injured." Harry thought the politeness of her tone sounded forced. There was noticeable tension between them. "Would you watch over Draco while I'm gone?"

"Mom!" Grey-eyes immediately whined.

The elderly woman seemed just as displeased. But for Narcissa there was no other choice, and whether they liked it or not, the little boy needed medical attention, which she would make sure he got.

On the way to the emergency room, Harry was forced to explain what had happened. He mixed the truth with lies, telling Mrs. Malfoy that his family was visiting for the holidays (like he'd heard described by Ron, Fred and George, and Ginny on the occasions that she dared speak), and that he'd had a row with his cousin (which was true). He told her how Dudley had thrown his toy at him and how he'd gotten his arm stuck between the bars of the banister during his fall.

Of course, Narcissa had wondered why his parents hadn't taken him to the doctor. It was a harder question for the raven to answer. He managed to explain that his parents were so busy with making sure their visitors were settled in and that everything was ready for dinner, that he hadn't wanted to bother them, thinking it would pass. And when it didn't go away, he wasn't able to tell them either, because his grandmother had felt unwell and everyone had gone to her home to make sure she was all right, leaving only him and his cousin at home. And as he disliked his cousin, who had hidden the parent's phone numbers they'd left behind, he hadn't told him either. And so he had no one to contact, and no one to help him. Mrs. Malfoy was the closest neighbour he knew.

Harry was so surprised after he'd finished his story. It was the most elaborate lie he'd ever invented. It hadn't even been that difficult. It was like inventing his own story. He'd fantasized enough to feed his ever growing imagination.

But what was even stranger to him, was that Mrs. Malfoy seemed to believe him. The boy had told the tale with such conviction, for at the time, he was not really lying, he was momentarily living in that fantasy world, that she hadn't questioned him. She didn't think that a child would be able to spin such a long and complicated lie, so she didn't even consider it.

The doctors also asked a few questions, but the raven clamped up when he had to deal with strangers. Mrs. Malfoy was all right, for he'd spent a whole evening and morning with her and her son. She didn't feel like a stranger anymore. And she was very nice to him, though he knew from how she treated Draco that bad manners and childishness would not be tolerated. She had authority, which was needed with a child like Draco.

After some waiting, a rather painful procedure in order to put Harry's shoulder back where it had to be, and some trouble with the forms that had to be filled in, they were able to head back home. Because it had taken a while for Mrs. Malfoy to explain why Harry had no identity or insurance papers and why it was a neighbour bringing him to the hospital, it was well past dinner time when they entered the house.

The elderly woman immediately began to complain that she had not been taken care of, that an old lady was left to starve and that her grandson was such handful and hadn't been raised well enough. On the surface, it looked like Mrs. Malfoy was undergoing it all patiently, but as she moved around to reheat and serve dinner, Harry suspected that she wasn't even listening. She simply nodded and said 'You're right' at certain intervals, and it seemed enough to please the woman.

The raven still wasn't sure if this meant that the woman was Mrs. Malfoy's mother or mother-in-law. What _was_ certain was that there was no Mr. Malfoy around. At the dinner table sat only Draco, Mrs. Malfoy, grandmother, and himself. It seemed much too few for such a big house. But Harry dared not ask. He knew it would be rude, and he was scared Mrs. Malfoy wouldn't be nice to him anymore, or throw him out.

After the delicious food, which Harry could finally enjoy now that his injury had been taken care of, it was time for the old lady to go to sleep, and he himself felt like he could instantly fall asleep if he laid his head down.

Narcissa invited the boy to stay the night, seeing as his parents would probably not return until very late and that he needed to rest. "But you'll have to stay in Draco's room this time. The guest room is taken up by Draco's grandmother." She added apologetically.

It was then that Harry understood that the woman wasn't her mother, otherwise she wouldn't have called her 'Draco's grandmother'. So it had to be Draco's father's mother. But why was she here, and not her son, Mr. Malfoy?

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pfiouf, there goes part 2. It's a long Christmas ^^


	8. Chapter 7

**A/n:** I am so sorry for being so late. My sole excuse: student life is haaarrrrd :( I can barely find the time and courage to write anything down. But I will persevere, as you can see, I have a new chapter. I think they will be a little shorter from now on.

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**Chapter 7: A Literary Discussion**

They say jealousy is a form of love. But it's wrong to assume it is only that. Jealousy can also be a form of ego-centrism. And in the raven's opinion, Draco Malfoy's jealousy had more to do with the second kind than with the first. It was clear he did not appreciate having his mother's attention taken away from him for the second night already. And on Christmas!

But in the vicinity of Mrs. Malfoy Senior and Mrs. Malfoy Junior, Draco had been forced to keep the noble composure that was expected of him. When the lights were out however…

"You bloody brat! Why don't you go crying to your own mama already!" Grey-eyes hissed as quietly as he could, but with as much venom as he could.

Harry was lying on the ground next to his bed. At first, Mrs. Malfoy had wanted to put her son there and Harry on the bed, for his shoulder was still very fragile; but seeing Draco's silently fuming expression behind his mother's back, the youngest one had insisted he would be perfectly fine where he was. It was a comfortable mattress, and he had two fluffy pillows. What's more, it was actually nice and warm in this room. At the Dursley's he was only allowed minimum heating. He felt no difference between the ground and an actual bed.

Still, there was no way he could ever go to sleep here, despite his exhaustion. First, an angry and vicious Malfoy was lying just a few centimetres from him. And second, he obviously needed an outlet for his bottled up irritation, and he was letting it all out, not allowing his guest to close his eyes for a second as he prattled on.

The raven allowed himself to feel a tiny amount of resentment toward the unfriendly old woman who had taken away the safe haven that was the guest room, which he had had the chance to know once… Though he could only dream about it now.

After grey-eyes spent an hour or so belittling green-eyes, he incautiously touched on the subject of the parents of the boy, repeating what his own grandmother had let slip during the evening, that they were extremely incompetent if they could not even keep their child away from troubling the neighbours on a holiday.

"Your parents don't even know their place. They've raised you to just barge into other's families, and to take classes in which you don't belong." Malfoy's sneer was clear even through a whisper.

Harry's reaction was immediate when Lily and James were mentioned. The spark in his belly was back, slowly building up to a greater fire as Malfoy continued.

The raven's parents were constantly criticized by everyone. Mrs. Weasley and Mrs. Malfoy sometimes let slip some unfriendly comments, Mrs. Malfoy Senior had been less prone to holding back, though her Daughter-in-Law had shushed her before Harry could come anywhere near losing control. He'd also heard a few teachers at school saying they didn't quite understand his situation, and why no one ever came to pick him up, or came to the parent-teacher meetings. The raven had taken it too, as criticism towards his parents and had had to bite down on his lips.

And worst of all, he couldn't really defend them. He would have to admit why they couldn't take care of him: that they were dead. But he was sure it would make them an even greater target for mean gossip. His uncle and aunt had made it clear that his parents had been criminals, and that they'd gotten themselves killed because of all the bad things they'd done.

"What a sad lot your family must be." Grey-eyes rambled on in the background. "At least they've had the sense to breed only once. It would be an outrage to flood the streets with the likes of them. One stupid brat is too much already. You just coming in here and eating our food and…"

The raven knew now that his parents had been bad people, and he'd sworn to himself he would take their secret with him to the grave, even if it meant begging the Dursleys not to say anything.

"And not even able to pay their own medical bills. I had to wait here with that old hag because your bloody parents can't even take care of their own nest…"

Because of his decision, he could not do anything but endure all the talk that flooded his ears. But whenever Malfoy started to insult them in his haughty and disrespectful way, it became much harder to stick by that decision, to keep quiet. At school he had Ron and Hermione to distract him, but here…alone…in the dark…

"…not even a fitting pair of clothes…"

And still, the raven clenched his teeth, for he felt very grateful towards Mrs. Malfoy, and he did not want to disrespect her by insulting her son in her own house. Besides, he was lying on the older boy's bedroom floor. When one does not fit in anywhere anymore, when one looses his claim on a home and a loving environment, one must feel the need to have to prove himself, to please others, to win one's own place in society. And so Harry tried too, to be good, to be polite, to get good grades, and to respect even his enemies.

"…you take _my_ pyjamas…"

However, not being a saint, it didn't take too long for his all consuming anger to stomp on his noble principles and to finally retort to Draco's mean words.

"So what!" Harry hissed back fervently, almost forgetting to keep his voice down.

A sudden silence fell in the room. It sounded even more penetrating after more than an hour of hearing the blonde's uninterrupted talking.

"What did you say?" Draco spoke slowly, threateningly. He had not really expected the small boy to defend himself for he had seemed so docile tonight. _Probably the shoulder thing._ He'd assumed. He'd even thought the boy was half asleep already, and had started deliberating whether to shake him awake to make him listen until he'd spit out everything he needed to say.

Secretly, he was also pleased that the younger one had responded. Talking to himself was but a boring matter.

"So what?" Harry repeated, not intending to back down now. "You don't even fit in your pyjamas anymore. What is it to you if I use them?"

"As long as they're in _my_ house, they are _mine_." Draco stated clearly.

Harry could not help but feel slightly intimidated by his older schoolmate. He'd never heard anyone that age speak in such manner. It was a tone fit for a grand king, with authority over an entire kingdom. But Draco's attitude was that of a young prince, as if he too, had the world at his feet and didn't even deem Harry worthy of kissing them.

If the boy on the bed were to be a king, the raven mused, he would be a scary one. Not to mention a very evil one, for he would enslave everybody and make them do whatever he pleased.

Yes, that was exactly the role Malfoy would get if Harry made up a story.

"You don't have anything to say to that?" Malfoy challenged as he propped himself up on his elbow to look down on the raven.

"Nothing but that I'm wearing _your_ pyjamas and that there's nothing you can do about it." The dark-haired boy shrugged nonchalantly, and immediately regretted it when his sore shoulder protested.

It was the perfect response to turn Malfoy into a boiling kettle. Telling someone so authoritative that he didn't even have power over his own property, Harry had hit where it hurt. He thought that if Malfoy was allowed to attack his weak spots, so was he.

Draco had not expected that kind of retort. He furiously racked his brain to find something smarter to reply, but his wit had been swept away momentarily by his fury.

"Take them off!" He ordered, hoping fiercely that the little brat could see the daggers he was shooting at him.

"Wh…what?" Harry stammered. It was his turn to be taken aback.

"They are _my_ pyjamas, I do whatever I want with them and I say I want you to take them _off_, and give them _back_." He spat the last word.

_Is he serious?_ Harry panicked. But… he would be cold without them, not to mention naked, except for his underwear. And he still had some old bruises from uncle Vernon's previous outbursts, and the new bruises from his fall from the stairs. Harry didn't like the idea of people seeing the traces of those humiliating moments. It humiliated him further. And Malfoy was the very last one he wanted to show his vulnerability to.

No, he simply could not do what he was asked.

"Are you going to throw me out of your room too?" He challenged, but the edge had left his voice. His confidence had left him when his anger was shut up.

Draco had to think before he replied. He knew it was his mother calling the shots, even if he pretended he could do it too. And Narcissa would not be pleased to see her guest sleeping out in the hallway in his underwear.

"It's too late now anyway." He huffed, feeling vexed. "I'm not in the mood to throw you out now. But I don't want to see you here ever again." Grey-eyes thought a bit longer about it, feeling that he'd somehow lost, he wanted to at least have the last word. "I will be expecting some kind of payment though, for the use of my things."

"I don't have money." The raven admitted grudgingly, knowing that his enemy must get more than enough. He always took nice toys to school, and quality candy.

"I don't need more money." Draco showed off. And the younger boy rolled his eyes. "But I'm really not in the mood to read that boring book for Miss Snape, so you write my essay. And make sure it's better than yours."

_Seriously? _The way Draco said it, it sounded to Harry like he made a habit of demanding the most outrageous things, and he felt a surge of pity for Malfoy's friends at school.

"I don't think I can do that, Malfoy." Harry's voice turned into an alien sound when he spoke the name. Was it the first time he'd addressed him by his surname? It felt strange.

"I don't really care, _Potter._" Draco responded, making sure to emphasize Harry's surname too.

The truth was that the raven was less than sure he would be able to write his own essay. Well, sure he could write it, but Miss Snape would certainly shred it to pieces and make him eat it if he handed it in, like she'd done with the last drop-out just before the holidays.

Harry had spent long hours (mostly during the night for he was busy with cleaning the house for aunt Petunia) reading a translation of _Heinrich von Ofterdingen_ by Novalis, which was the book he was to write about. But since everyone had had to choose a different work from the romantic period, in order to write Malfoy's essay on top of his own, he'd have to read _two_ books. It was an entirely impossible feat. He already had to look up many words before understanding even a few pages. _You're only seven for goodness sake! How can they ask this of you!_ Hermione had raged, surprising both Ron and Harry by her anti-institutional comment. (Though Harry suspected her anger had its roots in the fact that she too, had been unable to decipher a particular paragraph when Harry had asked her help.)

"Which book are you reading?" The raven inquired. He was suddenly curious whether his arrogant classmate was as good as he would like everyone to think, whether he was encountering the same troubles Harry was.

"Dumas, _Le Compte de Monte-Cristo._" Harry was surprised, not by the title of the book, but by Malfoy's accent, which was far from perfect, but which was passable. It sounded like he actually practiced French. "Here." Draco added as he threw the young boy a book.

For the second time in two days, the raven got knocked on the head by a heavy object. Luckily this time, it wasn't thrown too hard, and it hit a less vulnerable spot. It still hurt though, and he massaged his head as he put on his glasses and flipped open the book, inhaling the wonderful scent he'd come to associate with home, love and safety.

He squinted for a moment…could it be…

"This is in French!" He exclaimed when he'd made sure.

Grey-eyes sniggered, pleased to have made an impression. "Of course, I can read French perfectly. Miss Snape is my mother's cousin." He added, though Harry had not asked. "She's been drilling both French and Russian into me since before you were born." He spoke as if Harry were a mere laughable toddler. It seemed to be kind of a hobby to make him feel that way.

"I doubt it." The raven challenged, his irritation sparked by the obvious boasting. "You weren't even three when I was born." He wasn't very good at math, but he could figure that out at least.

"So?" Malfoy sounded happy, as if he'd anticipated that response.

"Really?" Harry wondered aloud, his irritation pushed aside by his reluctant amazement. He had trouble hiding his interest as his fingertips felt the pages and skimmed over the unfamiliar words.

_D'Avrigny prit l'Abbé par la main, et sans rencontrer Villefort, enfermé dans son cabinet, il le conduisit jusqu'à la chambre de Valentine, dont les ensevelisseurs devaient s'emparer seulement la nuit suivante._

The words in capital letters had to be names, the raven assumed. _Valentine, _he mused, were such names used in 19th century France?

"How else do you think I can read this?" Draco was irritated that his words weren't immediately believed. He was obviously much smarter than the tiny brat lying on his bedroom floor!

The raven's heart contracted. Malfoy had actually been able to make him feel stupid and incompetent. Who would have thought that? He looked at the words and he wished to be able to understand them. He wished to know how they sounded, for he could not even hear the words in his head.

"Prove it then." He said simply. He was sure Malfoy could not refuse him. He'd want to show off, as usual.

And he was right. Grey-eyes snatched the book away and started reading from the top of the page. "J'allais aller m'offrir, monsieur, dit le prêtre; c'est notre mission d'aller au devant de nos devoirs…"

Harry had heard French before, and it did not sound exactly the same, but close enough to absorb all his attention. It was exciting to hear an exotic language. It made the incomprehensible story feel like it came from unreachable land, far, far away, over the seas, or in the sky.

After he finished the page, Draco slammed the book shut harder than Harry liked to see. Books had always been treated with the utmost respect and care at his home, and he'd carried on that tradition.

_It's not fair_. Harry thought. Malfoy had someone like Miss Snape in his family, so he had had a lot of personal tutoring before taking the course. He had an advantage over them all. And he had the chance to learn other languages. If Harry had been so lucky, which language would he have wanted to learn, he wondered.

_Something very weird, something with different symbols so that it would look like a secret code, _he concluded. Yes, that would be the greatest.

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As usual, thank you for all the support, and I look forward (very much) to your reviews. :)


	9. Chapter 8

**A/n:** Hey there, dear fellow muggles! May you enjoy entering the mortal world of our favourite wizard :)

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"S'il n'existait pas, Dieu, il faudrait l'inventer."

Who doesn't like an interesting Dostojevski quote to start with?

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**Chapter 8: Narcissa and Her**

When Narcissa Malfoy found her little dark-haired guest and her son at the breakfast table, it was immediately clear to her that neither had closed even one eye all night. A smile played around her lips as she watched both of them practically slipping from their chairs. They seemed to have the consistency of jelly-fish.

The question that she asked herself now was whether they'd been up all night making up, or whether they'd been fighting. She hadn't been woken by any loud noises, so they couldn't have had a real fight, like she knew her son could instigate. On the other hand, from what she'd seen from the younger child, she doubted that he would be able to put up such a fight. He was so quiet and polite, and well-spoken.

Clearly, Narcissa Malfoy had yet to see when anger took power of Harry's eyes.

For now though, she lived with the image of a very gentle spirit; and not likely to go up against her strong-willed son.

The young mother sighed at the thought. _When is Draco going to settle down a little?_ She doubted he would be allowed to stay long at his next school if he kept the same attitude. Even her cousin Severa hadn't been able to keep him tame outside of a classroom, though she clearly had more control.

Once their breakfasts swallowed, Narcissa sent the two boys right back to sleep. Harry absolutely needed some decent rest after his trip to the emergency room, and Draco would become very whiny, and in the worst case, hyperactive in about an hour if he did not get some sleep too.

Narcissa knew better than to put them together again though. She wrapped Harry in a warm blanket on the most comfortable couch, and by the time she'd come back from putting her son to bed, the little raven had long gone away to the dreamy world of childhood. She watched over him from the kitchen, where she prepared some more tea for her mother-in-law.

"How did you sleep, dear mother?" She inquired, forcing her voice to sound polite.

"Hmmm" Mrs. Malfoy Senior huffed haughtily, not unlike Draco. "I'm sure I heard whispers coming from the boy's room all night. Why didn't you put them to sleep?"

_So they did talk all night._ "I'm certain it was but a dream, mother."

"Don't you patronize me, young lady." The old woman chastised her like she as five years old.

Being treated like a child made Narcissa want to act like a child and roll her eyes at her, but she refrained.

After having taken good care of her mother-in-law, as was expected of her (as she expected from herself) she built a fire in the living room and watched over the small child with a cup of morning tea by her side, her thoughts wandering.

She had not wondered why his parents didn't take better care of such a lovely son, though she was annoyed that they had not even inquired where he was. She thought that they probably didn't know he was here. But it was not to be excluded that they simply didn't care. Narcissa had seen how tightly the boy's clothes fit. Clearly he hadn't gotten much attention in a while.

He hadn't gotten a new set of clothes in at least half a year, she guessed. But the ones he was wearing weren't of low quality. It didn't look like they didn't have enough money to buy him a new pair of trousers. So why hadn't they?

Unfortunately, Narcissa was not surprised. She knew very well about disregarded children. She would always hate herself for it, and try all her life to make up for it, but the first four years of his life she had barely looked back at Draco; until there had been no one else left to care for him, and she had been forced to do it all alone.

At least, her cousin Severa had been there, and still was. She had sometimes looked after Draco and taught him since he was very little. It was one constant he'd had in his life. Narcissa was very grateful for that.

All this meant that she understood (without condoning) how parents could not care for their children. Parenthood was not a biological given. Some people were parents, and some weren't. They could sometimes change, as she had done herself, but oftentimes, children were left raising themselves, or being raised by older siblings.

Her mind meanderings were interrupted by the sound of her phone. She hastily scrambled to her feet to get it before it could wake the boys.

"Don't hang up, Narcissa!" A stern and cold voice ordered the moment the receiver touched her ear. It was all she could do to not do just that, but it was Christmas after all, and he had the decency not to call at any other time.

"What is it, Lucius?" She asked in the emotionless tone she reserved just for her husband.

"I couldn't buy a gift this year…for Draco, but…"

"I'd rather you didn't anyway." Narcissa cut him off. "I'm not sure how I should explain to him with what kind of money those gifts were bought."

"You didn't give him what I bought the other years?"

"I did. It's the only way he knows his father. Though I'm not sure he's right to think that. It's not like you bought it personally."

"Narcissa…" The man half-pleaded half-growled. "You know I _can't_ buy it myself."

"And whose fault is that?"

"Don't act like you're a saint, Narcissa." Lucius drawled over the phone. "Anyway, could I talk to Draco for a bit? My time is limited."

The single mother fumbled with her blouse. She knew she had to refuse him, but it was always surprisingly hard. She had once promised to love and cherish this man, even die for him. They were technically still married, and she was still faithful to that contract. She liked to tell herself she did it for Draco.

"Narcissa." Lucius threatened as the silence stretched on. "It's Christmas, for heaven's sake!"

"I don't think it's a good idea, Lucius."

"He is _my_ son too, Narcissa!" He was yelling now. "He has a right to know his father! It's Christmas and I want to talk to him!"

"Why didn't you think of that _before_ you murdered a woman." Narcissa's throat was flaming with anger and it was hard to keep her tone level and calm.

"I am loyal. I did what I was asked. You know how it goes with SH, Narcissa, you were there." He argued.

"You thought that taking a life was more important than building up ours, taking care of the one we created." Narcissa now fired the words at an alarming speed. "I made mistakes in the past, but I am trying my hardest to make up for it and keep our son from turning into _us_! And allowing any kind of influence from you will undo all I have worked for!"

"Now _I'm_ the bad influence? Who was it who told me 'come on, Lucy pussy, you don't know how to have fun'." He said with a mocking girly voice.

Narcissa closed her eyes in shame. He would never let her forget who she was. She was secretly happy her husband was in prison.

"Your mother's here." She said to change the subject. Their conversation wouldn't go beyond petty fighting. She walked to the kitchen where her mother-in-law was still sipping her tea with a sour expression. Narcissa was certain she would find something unacceptable about the tea.

"Narcissa! Let me talk to Draco, n…" His voice was lost when she handed the wireless phone to the lady, who looked at her questioningly.

"Who is it?"

"Your son." After her conversation with her husband, Narcissa couldn't keep the sarcasm from leaking through her façade. Unfortunately, the old lady picked up on it. She was too shrewd for peace's sake.

"Not being caught for your deeds doesn't make you any better, _Miss Black._" Mrs. Malfoy senior liked to hit where it hurt, and to pretend the marriage of her son had never taken place with _this_ woman.

Narcissa flinched, her self-control coming apart at the seams. It always happened when he called, and she hated that fact.

Mrs. Malfoy senior took the receiver from the pale blonde' s hand and pressed the 'end call' button before even putting it to her ear. "How can I talk to the son you ruined." She accused and handed back the phone.

The young mother took the phone, speechless. Yes, she had started the whole thing, but she had tried to put her husband back on the right track after straightening herself out. She was now working full-time, and was a single mother. She did not have one minute a day to herself. She deserved more at least than contempt.

But she did not know how to express her desire for recognition, and she was aware she would not get it from this woman in any case. Did she even want it from her?

She took the phone and simply put it down on the table and collapsed onto one of the chairs. She felt drained.

But the old woman wasn't happy with just one snarky comment. She was in the mood to complain and over-dramatise. "The ancient Malfoy family has been defiled." She poured herself another cup of tea and stirred aggressively with the silver spoon, even though she hadn't mixed anything into it.

"It is not!" Narcissa attempted to defend herself. "I am turning Draco into a respectable young man!" She knew he would be. Draco was a difficult young boy, but despite his character, she knew he had a very passionate heart and mind. He would go to great lengths for the ones he loved.

"Oh, for heaven's sake!" Mrs. Malfoy senior exclaimed. Narcissa winced. Her mother in-law sounded exactly like her son when she uttered that phrase. "I wasn't able to see my own grandson for four years because he was with _your_ family, those breeders with plebeian folk!"

"I beg your pardon?" Narcissa hadn't heard this one yet, and she was flabbergasted by the nerve of this woman. "Plebeian folk?"

"Oh, I know your sister married with those lowly families. What was it, Andromeda Tonks? It's truly ridiculous." She huffed haughtily, inflating her chest. "Your cousin…"

"Severa has done a very good job educating Draco in my absence." Narcissa snapped before her mother-in-law could add any criticism. "And it's not like you were very happy to care for him yesterday when I went to the hospital."

"For heaven's sake," Narcissa really wished she'd stop saying that, "the boy is uncontrollable." Mrs. Malfoy senior stirred some more. "He and that unmannerly street-boy have kept me awake all night."

Narcissa's mouth dropped open. Clearly, this woman's judgement was entirely clouded, thickly misted. Harry was the most mannered and well-spoken boy she'd ever met of that age, to the point that she felt slightly jealous her own son could not act like that.

"Mom? What's wrong?"

Both women turned abruptly. In the doorway of the kitchen stood the son they were speaking of, pale hair all tangled up and eyes drooping.

Narcissa jumped out of her chair to take Draco away from the old witch, to protect him from whatever words would come out. "Sweety, it's all right. We're just having an adult discussion. You should go back to bed." She chastised gently.

She took her son by the hand to take him back to his room, he obviously wasn't rested yet, but he stood frozen as they passed by the living-room door.

Narcissa followed Draco's gaze and it fell upon the raven, only his dark feathers sticking out from under the blanket, still fast asleep on the couch by the dying fire.

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Can I interest you in a butterbeer, or a quick shot of firewhiskey while you go down and click on that review button that will make me explode into a ball of inspiration and gratefulness?


	10. Chapter 9

**A/n:** wow, got 4 reviews at once for the last chapter!

Well, okay, don't laugh. It may not be much compared to other fanfictions, but I like them and I'm proud of them.

Thank you guys :D

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**Chapter 9:**** A New Character****  
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He was dreading the moment. He was full-blown terrified. His toes were curling up in his shoes, and tentacles of an unknown nature wriggled up into his belly, squeezing all the contents. His throat was dry and aching and his fingers were sticky with sweat as he tried to get his hair to look like he'd been awake for more than an hour. He was…

Well, enough of this. He had to get inside sooner or later. Later would get him in more trouble, probably. But he still would've preferred later.

On the other hand, he hadn't wanted to impose on Mrs. Malfoy any longer than he'd already had. She'd served him a quick lunch when he woke up from his morning nap and he'd been conflicted between wanting to eat as much as he could before returning to the Dursleys, and not wanting to seem like he was taking advantage, or like he was poor and starving.

Despite having been able to have a normal conversation with Draco (kind of), talking stiffly and awkwardly about their assignments and Miss Snape all night, and despite having called a momentary truce (kind of), the prodigal Malfoy son had looked giddy at the idea of Harry finally leaving. The grandmother too, hadn't seemed to mind. And Mrs. Malfoy, well…Harry thought she'd looked preoccupied with something, worried, anxious. It reminded him of the tense silences he'd witnessed between his parents after which they'd disappeared into the kitchen and broken out in furious whispers.

Mrs. Malfoy had been plunged too deep in her own thoughts to notice the boy's distress as she drove him back to his home, and she had not insisted to walk him to the door. Instead, she'd given him a warm but absent smile, assured him he could come by any time he wished, and driven off, back to her own family and problems.

Everyone had problems. Harry was only starting to notice it now, that every family seemed to have some kind of dysfunction. It had not only been his own.

The raven caught himself wondering idly if Draco's father had also died, instead of opening the front door. He sighed, momentarily blowing his long bangs out of the way. He could not stay there forever. He had to face the Dursleys sometime.

A last deep breath, 1…2…3… And there he went. He turned the knob, pushed the door open, closed it and walked to the kitchen, all in one go. The raven felt proud of himself. But the pride and courage sunk into his shoes once he looked into his family's faces again. Somehow they looked…uglier than the last time he'd seen them.

Aunt Petunia was scrubbing away at a mound of dishes and glasses, all from the dinner party without a doubt. Uncle Vernon was looking smugger than a lion, king of his lionesses, as he looked over official-looking papers. And Dudley…well…Dudley seldom changed. He seemed torn between his love for his lunch and his passion for boxing video games. He was struggling to try and keep a constant stream of food coming into his mouth (and not his nose), and at the same time keeping his character alive on his PSP. His face was contorted in concentration and regular grunting noises escaped his full mouth.

Harry frowned. It was such a stark contrast with the polite and graceful way the Malfoys had eaten. He felt as much out of place here as he'd felt there. He didn't fit in with either of the extremes.

In fact, they seemed just as oblivious of his presence here as they'd been when he'd left the Malfoy house. It was only when Dudley looked up long enough for Vernon and Petunia to miss his grunting that they turned to look at the doorway.

"Uh…hi." Harry tried. He was still in 'polite mode'. But he thought it wouldn't take long before he switched back to 'silent mode'.

"Well!" Vernon said loudly. Harry cringed. _Here it comes._ He prepared himself. "What are you waiting for? Go help your aunt!" He ordered.

Harry hurried to her side and started drying the glasses with extreme care. He didn't dare think what would happen to him if he so much as cracked one of the fragile-looking things. Vernon went back to his papers, chuckling self-contentedly in a chorus with Dudley's renewed grunting.

So…that was it? Harry thought. They hadn't even noticed he was gone all night and all morning? Strangely, the raven felt disappointed. Yes, it was a stroke of luck. He wouldn't get punished or berated. But…how could they not even have noticed!

The raven understood then, at noon in Petunia's kitchen, with fragile and beautifully transparent glass in his hands, that he'd still harboured hope somewhere deeply hidden. Hope that he would one day find a way to please his Uncle and Aunt, and that they would accept him and care for him; tell him they were proud and urge him to try harder, cheering on him when he did. It didn't matter that he hated them. He'd still craved that kind of feeling. He'd missed it more than he'd thought.

No more! He thought furiously, choking back what felt very much like tears. His hate for his family doubled, along with his hurt. But from now on, he would never expect anything from them again, he told himself.

He was suddenly so enraged that he broke off the fragile edge of one of the glasses. He was almost happy when the hit came. The physical pain distracted him from the other emotions flooding through him and confusing him. He cried out and wished he could yell the vilest of curses at the top of his lungs.

That night, the raven broke his own rule. He felt like he would cry anyway, so he might as well get his money's worth.

His hands trembled as he carefully pried open his floorboard in the silent darkness, not wanting to alarm any of the other inhabitants. Somehow, his shoulder had started aching again. Maybe it had something to do with the hit he took from his uncle for breaking the expensive and irreplaceable glass.

He left the curtains open to look at the pictures of him and his parents Rebecca had brought an eternity ago (he couldn't even recall her face in any detail), and fell asleep with his glasses on.

The next morning, he found them on the ground, slightly worse for wear, and sticky with salty tears. His eyes felt swollen, and he was still tired. The last thing he wanted was to get out of bed.

The little bird stayed under the covers, feathers ruffled and wings drooping. But then he noticed, outside his window…

_Snow!_ He exclaimed to himself internally and jumped out in a smooth movement to push his nose up against his window. The front yard, driveway and street were covered in a layer that looked softer than anything he'd ever seen. So much he felt a yearning to lie down in it. But he remembered that his mother had always told him not to do so. The reason she'd given him was that he would turn into a snowy owl.

The ink-black raven, turning into a snowy owl? How could that ever happen?

Lily had seemed worried though. The raven had done as she'd asked. And now that she…

_Mom…_

Harry couldn't breathe suddenly. His palms came loose from the freezing window and clutched at his chest. He couldn't _breathe_!

Hate, fury, pain, grief, fear, loneliness… So many things that the little one didn't know, didn't understand, and couldn't cope with. Who would teach him? Who even knew?

After a few minutes of struggling, the dark-haired boy found his breath again and leaned his forehead against the cold glass. Condensation formed where his mouth was, and relief washed over him that his lungs seemed to be working again. The momentary malfunction had scared him.

But then, something outside caught his eye. In a patch of snow between the flower beds, something was moving. It was hard for Harry to see, but it looked to be a little darker than the blanket surrounding it. It intrigued him, and his mind desperately grasped this opportunity for distraction.

Harry rushed to his closet to attempt to put some clothes on over his pyjamas. But those were already tight when he wore nothing under them. It was impossible for him to close the buttons of his trousers with his pyjama bottoms underneath.

Exasperated, he quickly took everything off, including his sleeping outfit and put on his day clothes again, and his coat. Though he doubted it would do much for him against freezing temperatures.

It was hard for him to contain his enthusiasm when he slipped down the stairs. It was still early, and though he could hear aunt Petunia in the bathroom, the others were still sleeping. He didn't want them to know what he was up to.

Harry didn't bother to tie his shoelaces. His shoes were too cramped to fall off anyway (he had blisters on both his little toes). He gently opened the door and slipped to the patch where he'd spotted the anomaly.

The raven's eyes widened in amazement. There, between the desolate bushes, was a little, 'plushy', greyish creature, wrestling to get loose from the blanket of frozen water-crystals around it. It didn't look like it was making much progress though.

Harry wondered what it was. He was certain his father or mother would have been able to tell him. But there was no one to ask here.

_It's ugly_. He thought. Truly, it was. It was a very light shade of grey (no wonder Harry had had trouble to see it among the snow and from a distance), had a pointy black beak, and some rosy skin was visible under the white/grey plush. It was so small it could fit in his hands. Would he dare?

What would his parents have said? He wondered. His father often told him not to interfere with the workings of nature, that the strong defeated the weak. But his mother was more prone to helping a creature in need.

The tiny, ugly baby bird let out a sound between a sharp cry and a chirp, and the raven decided he couldn't leave it there, helplessly moving its even tinier limbs. He bent down and scooped up the bird in both hands. Its eyes were closed.

Fifteen minutes later, Harry had wrapped it in a blanket from the hallway closet he wasn't supposed to touch, had stolen a tin of corn from the basement (the only thing that looked like it would fit in the animal's beak) and had cradled it close to him under his covers. He didn't know much about animals, but enough to know that baby things needed to be warm and fed easy food, like chewed things, or partly digested worms and such. That was what he remembered. It still sounded disgusting though, and he didn't know how he would go about doing that. He hadn't thought so far ahead. For now, he just kept it close to him and warm, and he didn't come out of his room all day.

But when evening came, his stomach was grumbling furiously. He'd eaten some of the corn, but he was supposed to leave it for the…birdy-thing. So he had to go downstairs for dinner. And Aunt Petunia would come and get him personally to help her cook and clean afterwards if he didn't show up. There was a chance she would see the animal. She would have a stroke at the idea of an animal in her house, and uncle Vernon would send Harry to the hospital on a gurney alongside her.

But the worst was that they would certainly kill the poor thing, or throw it out. Harry wouldn't forgive himself if that happened. It couldn't defend itself; it couldn't even open its eyes. He had to take care of it!

He stood up carefully. The bird had slept all day, lying so still Harry had thought for a moment it had died, but had been reassured when he'd felt its heartbeat and warmth. He didn't want to wake it up now. It would make noise once it felt it was hungry, and Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia would hear.

He laid the ball of blankets under the lukewarm radiator, it was better than nothing, and then went downstairs to eat and do his chores. The Dursleys ignored him completely, still talking about their successful Christmas dinner with uncle Vernon's boss. Harry was happy enough with that. He'd thought they would keep him from dinner since he'd broken the glass. But staying in his room all day turned out to be a smart move. Not having to see him for 24 hours seemed to put them in a better mood.

While cleaning the table Harry hesitated for a moment, thinking he could smuggle some leftovers upstairs. But he decided against it. During class at school, when they'd been learning about the local flora and fauna, Hermione had whispered to him and Ron that it was dangerous to feed animals when one did not know what its diet consisted of. And Harry had no clue what the creature would eat. He didn't even know what it was. Luckily, he hadn't given it the corn yet, it had not woken long enough for him to attempt to feed it. He wasn't even sure how he was going to make it swallow the food.

When night had once more fallen, and silence along with it, the creature in the bundle of blankets at Harry's side began to stir and to make weak croaking noises.

"Shhhh," the raven whispered, "please…little…thing," he struggled for something to address it with, "if you make too much noise, they'll know you're here and throw you out."

And that was the last thing the raven wanted. At a time when his spirits had reached a new low, a goal had appeared in front of him. A new mission: to keep this creature alive, protect it with his life. And so, after remembering Hermione's words, he hadn't dared to give it the corn to eat. He needed to find an answer soon, for it looked weak, and it might die quickly.

It made another sound, something closer to crooning, but very high-pitched. Harry used his little finger to stroke the bird's head. It opened its beak in response.

"Not yet." Harry whispered. "What if you die because I gave you the wrong food? I will go to the library first thing tomorrow. The librarian is very nice, you know. I'm sure she'll know how I can find out what you eat."

For the first time since he'd set a foot through the Dursley's door, Harry hadn't felt lonely a single second of the day. The animal, even though tiny and asleep, radiated a soothing presence. It eased the little raven's pain and grief. A baby, a new life, hope…for a new companion maybe?

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So...can anyone guess who the new character is? :p

It's not so hard I think ^^


	11. Chapter 10

**A/n: **Ah, what would be we without HP, I wonder?

And a voice without a doubt

tells me: "we'd go under!"

"You don't have to shout!"

I exclaim, for I

I know for a fact

'Till death I'd cry

If ever HP's story would die

(that pretty much sums it up)

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**Chapter 10: Yet Another One**

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Before uncle Vernon had even taken place at the table for breakfast, Harry had helped his aunt prepare it, had been yelled at for burning the bacon (which he still hadn't learned to do right), had sneaked an apple and a banana under his clothes and gone out the door.

The creature had stirred all night, keeping Harry awake as he constantly distracted it by whispering or stroking it. It seemed to help to keep it quiet. And when the sky began turning grey, it had fallen back into a slumber. Harry hoped it would sleep through the day again. Uncle Vernon had to go to work, and Dudley might be at a friend's house, but aunt Petunia would most certainly be home, and she had sharp hearing.

The raven had had time to think it through while lying awake, and had decided to start in the library where he usually went to read books for his assignment for Snape's class. It was where he'd gotten his copy of _Heinrich von Ofterdingen_. He could not buy his own copy like Draco had bought his _Le Compte de Monte-Cristo._

He would then ask the librarian who seemed to like him to help him.

As it turned out, the librarian very much wanted to help, but it was a rather small library she ran, and it was primarily filled with literary works of fiction, no science. She perused the shelves with Harry, but they only found some works about anthropology, and a dusty encyclopaedia about insects.

Harry was disappointed, and in a hurry to find something else. The baby thing had to eat!

The librarian was kind enough to draw him a little map to another library where she knew he would find many books about animals, wildlife, the earth, even the universe. Harry practically ran all the way. He felt so uneasy about having the creature alone in the house, exposed to the cruel ways of the Dursleys. He wanted to be back as quickly as possible. He didn't want it to go away or die. He was clutching this new hope, maybe tighter than he should.

When he arrived at the other library, he immediately noticed the difference. This one was much bigger, cleaner, with a more official-looking counter and employees. They were even wearing name-tags, like in stores. It didn't feel nearly as cosy and familiar as the small room stacked with old books he'd just come from. And he now faced the problem: where to begin?

It had been easy to talk to the librarian before, she was the only one there, and she had seemed to like him pretty easily. But here, Harry had to go up to one of those adults, and _talk_ to them. He didn't like the idea at all. His stomach clenched, and he broke out in a sweat. What if they thought he was dirty, or disrespectful? What if they yelled at him? What if they told him to leave, or laughed at his too small clothes?

The raven preferred staying out of sight. It felt much better to wander off between the shelves. He would try on his own first, he told himself.

After fifteen minutes of searching without results, he finally realised there was a second floor. He came across the stairway in a corner of the broad room and sighed at the sight of it, thinking of all that he hadn't seen yet.

Upstairs, he found a room the same size. Half of it was filled, not with shelves of books, but with tables and chairs. And along the walls were tables with computers on them. They immediately caught his attention. There had been a computer in the study at his home. Sometimes it had been Lily working on it until morning, and sometimes his father. He saw it when he went to the bathroom at night and slipped quietly past the slightly opened door.

And during the day, when he was allowed to be up, they had sometimes let him use it. Usually he just played games, but they'd showed him how to read books on the computer, and also a program with which he could write himself! He'd been excited about that. He'd started very slowly typing words and phrases, but had not yet progressed very much.

Anyway, no time for daydreaming! Harry tore his eyes away from the machines and examined the room further. There were much more people here. At every table there was at least one person with books spread around them. With some, it looked like there had been an explosion of paper, with half-ripped books to show for it; and with others every sheet was straight, all pencils neatly stacked.

It was so quiet Harry felt self-conscious about his breathing. But he couldn't hold in a gasp when he saw who was sitting at one of the tables.

Some people looked just as surprised at this person's presence as Harry was. Although, in retrospect, Harry thought he should've known Hermione would spend her holidays in a library. _Where else?_

But he wasn't going to complain. This was a gift straight from heaven! Hermione was the one who had told him not to feed things when you don't know their diet in the first place. She would know what to do, and he wouldn't have to ask one of the people with name-plates.

Harry slipped in between the chairs as silently as he could, and then touched his friend tentatively on the shoulder. Hermione jumped and dropped her pencil to the floor. Wide-eyed, she looked around. It took only a second for her expression to warm up.

"Harry!" She exclaimed in a whisper. A few people looked up. "You scared me! I wasn't expecting my mum until noon." She explained.

"Ah, they leave you here alone?" Harry was surprised. The Dursleys never let 'Dudders' out of their sight. And his own parents had not allowed him to stray further than a few yards when they'd been outside the house.

"Well, yes. It's fine as long as I don't go outside. But I have to go home for lunch." She sounded sullen, as if she wished to continue working without even a break. "But what are you doing here?" She asked as she gestured to the empty chair next to her. Harry sat down, facing her, and she turned to do the same.

The raven wanted to solve his problem as quickly as possible, but his mind was distracted once again when he saw what she was busy with.

"You're studying math?" He asked, stunned.

"Well…yes…" Hermione answered, flushing slightly. She seemed unsure whether Harry's comment was a positive or a negative one.

"During the holiday?" He continued.

It was clear for Hermione now that he'd meant she was crazy. Her heart tightened, readying itself for another rejection. She'd seen this so many times. Her classmates always thought her strange, arrogant, and annoying whenever they learned that she went to the library to study. She'd done it the year before, and everyone had laughed at her. Now she'd gotten a new chance at a new school, she'd made sure to keep it a secret.

Sure, Harry had been her friend until now, but what if he turned on her?

She picked up her pencil from the floor to have an excuse to look away, and tried not to purse her lips when she re-emerged.

"You work for Miss Snape's class during the holiday too, don't you?" She whispered in a weak voice, avoiding his gaze.

Harry noticed her change in attitude, but didn't understand what the problem was. He didn't really have time to think about it much. He peeked a last time at her notes, amazed at what he was seeing. Hermione was _good_ at math. He was bad, and she was good.

_And Ron is abysmal_. He thought to cheer himself up, then immediately felt guilty about it.

"I need your help." He said, getting straight to the point. He hoped it didn't seem like he was taking advantage of their friendship to use her intelligence. But to his surprise, his attitude seemed not to have a negative effect at all. Quite the contrary, it broke the tension that had suddenly come up, and Hermione brightened up considerably in the space of another second. It puzzled the raven.

What she said didn't really fit with her brightened mood though.

"Oh, Harry. I really didn't understand that paragraph you showed me. I can't…" she seemed to almost bite her tongue in frustration "make sense of it."

It took Harry a moment to catch up with her, to understand what she was talking about. Then he remembered her frustration when he'd asked her for help a few weeks ago with a passage from Novalis' book.

"It must be a mistranslation somehow." She rattled on before he could say anything. "Maybe if you found another version, I'm sure there are many…"

"Wait," he interrupted her, a bit too loudly. People 'shhhh'ed'. "I'm not talking about that" he mentally hit himself on the head, remembering that he still hadn't gotten anywhere with his essay, "I have another problem."

Hermione was all ears, and after slipping down the stairs to get away from the accusing gazes of all the much older and intimidating students, Harry explained how he'd found the creature, and what it looked like. The first thing she asked was why he hadn't asked his parents. After all, her order of consultation was always a grown-up first, and then a book. He told her he wasn't allowed to have pets or other animals at home.

"Well, you said its beak was crooked, right?" She asked when they'd finally decided to start looking for a book.

Harry nodded in assent.

"That means it's a bird of prey, one which eats meat rather than seeds and such." It didn't take long for her to find a book about it on the second floor, where Harry hadn't looked yet. They took it back to the table where she'd been sitting, and they quietly flipped through the pages and looked at the pictures. There were entire profiles of each bird of prey, with pictures of adults, and chicks too.

About halfway through the book, Harry recognized the ugly little thing, with the half-exposed skin, the closed eyes and the grotesque shape.

"That's it!" He exclaimed, pointing a finger at the picture as Hermione started reading the profile.

"Well," she began after a few minutes of silent reading, "it says here they can eat a wide range of animals. Primarily small rodents, squirrels, hares, marmots, or small birds even. They're pretty opportunistic. The young are fed by the parents. The mother tears the prey to pieces for the young ones to swallow." She looked up expectantly, as if waiting for Harry to say or do something.

"Uh," he said tentatively, "so, where am I going to find shredded rodents?" A mental picture of aunt Petunia's reaction if she ever saw such a thing in her house came into Harry's mind. It wasn't pretty to behold.

"Actually," Hermione began with a proud air, and Harry recognized 'bossy/nosy/haughty' Hermione as she stuck her head out. "I know someone who knows all about taking care of animals. Whenever a wounded or lost bird or hedgehog gets into our backyard, we take it to him. They always get well, and then he releases them into nature."

"That's great, Hermione!" Harry couldn't keep his enthusiasm from flowing over. His friend looked slightly flushed and embarrassed. Again, he wondered what he had said or done to make her change. But this 'shy' side of Hermione was actually kind of cute. He thought that if she were like that more often, she'd have much more friends.

In any case, he was very grateful for her help. All they needed to do now was go there and this person would save the creature. Harry jumped of his chair and stood ready, waiting for Hermione to pack her things, but she hadn't moved an inch and simply stared at him questioningly.

"Well?" He urged.

"Now?" She asked, her voice rising distinctively. "But… I'm not allowed to leave!" She protested.

_Ah, yes._ He remembered. But he couldn't wait any longer. Who knew how long the bird had gone without eating? Maybe it was already dead, lying under his radiator. The idea suddenly filled the raven with dread and horror, and a noticeable surge of panic.

The young girl, though still one year older than him, noticed the change in his expression, and felt her own heart compress. This boy, the first one who seemed to care about her just a little, was in trouble. They were _friends_, right? And friends helped each other out, whatever the cost. Hermione heart swelled at the idea of such a noble quest.

"All right!" She exclaimed. Again, the students around them looked extremely displeased. But it was no longer their problem. In a few minutes, they were out the door and wandering the suburban streets alone, on their way to what to them looked like a far, far-away destination.

Whatever the raven had had in mind when his bushy-haired friend had told him on their way about a person named Hagrid…it hadn't been this.

They had arrived at the edge of a small forest, and entered a wooden cabin that looked like it came straight out of a fairy-tale. Even the inside had seemed magic, with all kinds of things hanging from the ceiling beams, and a great hearth taking up almost half the living area. It had truly amazed the dark-haired boy.

But when he first met the actual Hagrid, Harry nearly fainted. (Though that might've been caused by the hunger ripping through his belly.) The man was so incredibly _large_! Harry could've worn one of the gloves hanging beside the door like an overlarge hat. The top of his head barely reached the man's waist, and both he, Ron and Hermione could've organized a birthday party in his trousers.

"Hagrid!" Hermione called warmly as he let them in. "I'm so happy you're home!"

"Ah, yer lucky, yer know. I was jus' abou' to go out to the forest. Yer know the birds get stuck on the lake in this weather." He explained thoughtfully. Then his eyes fell upon the tiny shape following Hermione. From his perspective, he could really only see a head of black feathers. "Who's this?"

"Oh, Hagrid, this is Harry. Harry, Hagrid." She introduced them.

"Pleased meetin' yer, Harry!" He said jovially. The raven though he could distinguish a smile underneath the bushy black beard. Only the eyes were visible really, but they clearly showed a warm expression. The man's face was less scary than his size.

"A friend o' yours?"

"Yes." Hermione answered hesitantly, but proudly.

"Ah, gotta get yer kids somethin' ter drink. Just made some cookies las' nigh'." Hagrid winked at them, and turned away to a large kettle which was resting on a stove in the makeshift kitchen. He filled it with water from the tap and turned on the gas. A few minutes later, they were all seated around an equally large table, and presented with wild-flower tea and something Harry guessed to be chunks of volcanic rock. His stomach was growling, but even in that condition he had reserves about touching the food. It was only after he saw Hermione pick one off the plate and carefully nibble on it that he decided he could risk it.

It tasted like charred Styrofoam, with a hint of cinnamon. But it was chewable, and it filled his stomach, so Harry swallowed and quickly found himself taking a second one while Hermione and Hagrid talked about the last hedgehog her parents had dropped off. Hagrid looked very pleased and at the gesture and pushed the plate a little towards him, while Hermione looked rather surprised, even concerned as she examined him up and down as if expecting a seizure. Harry just shrugged and bit down on the second rock, almost breaking off a tooth.

"Yer got a healthy appetite there, eh boy." He laughed. Then he turned back to the little girl with the bushy-brown hair. "So, what brings yer here?"

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Okay, my poem from before pretty much blows :p Does anyone have something better to offer? How would minstrels sing about Harry Potter's epic adventure?


	12. Chapter 11

**A/n: **Well...nothing new to say really.

Humongous thanks to the reviewers and supporters and... Enjoy!

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**Chapter 11: Will (s)he Survive?**

Strange, peculiar, unfamiliar.

Those were the words the raven would have used to describe that afternoon.

The day had started with his expedition to the libraries, his encounter with Hermione, and his introduction to the large and mighty Hagrid, who reminded Harry of a strong and grounded oak tree. Although, oak trees weren't likely to hit him in the face with a palm the size of his head whenever it turned around without paying attention. The giant's clumsiness wouldn't have been such a problem if Harry and Hermione's heads hadn't been the perfect distance from the ground, in the danger zone about Hagrid's waist.

Morning had turned to noon as Harry and Hermione explained all about the animal in Harry's room, and what information they had uncovered about it. Hagrid had started giving instructions, but it didn't take long for everyone to figure out that bringing the creature to Hagrid would be the best solution. It would significantly increase the chick's chances at surviving. For even if Hagrid gave Harry the right food, it still would be a delicate and difficult task to feed it.

This had led Hermione to step up once again as a loyal friend and face her parent's disapproval (which from what Harry knew of her, was a big step for the girl). She used Hagrid's phone to call her mother and admit she wasn't at the library anymore, and add to it a request to drive them to Harry's house to pick up the baby bird and bring it back to Hagrid's as soon as possible. If Harry had to walk all the way and back, it would take ages, and the long exposure to the winter cold combined with the roughness and noise of the trip could prove fatal for the creature in its weakened condition.

The raven had sat in silence with Hagrid as they watched Hermione wince every few seconds. They hadn't been able to hear what was being said on the phone, but it hadn't been hard to guess it wasn't a pleasant conversation. Harry had tangled and untangled his fingers nervously, feeling guilty for getting her in trouble. To his surprise, the scary giant had looked just as uncomfortable and sympathetic; one of the first signs that had allowed the raven to catch a glimpse of the warm and soft heart at the core of the colossal oak tree trunk.

Hermione's mother had eventually showed up and driven them in absolute silence to number four Privet Drive. Only green-eyes had darted into the house. He'd barely made a sound coming in, but suddenly, as he was about to ascend the stairs, aunt Petunia had appeared from the kitchen and hastily shut the door behind her, an expression of surprise and alarm on her face.

"You…" she'd stuttered clumsily, "what are you doing here?"

The question, and the manner in which it had been asked, as if aunt Petunia was scared of him and not the other way around, had sounded very strange to Harry's ears. So much so that he hadn't been able to answer for almost a full minute.

"I'm just picking something up." He'd finally said with a confused frown. It had seemed the best answer, the one Petunia was expecting.

And the raven was right. Aunt Petunia had clearly been relieved, and re-entered the kitchen, carefully shutting the door behind her.

The exchange had puzzled the green-eyed boy, but not enough to distract him from his bigger goal. He'd found the bird where he'd left it under the radiator, relieved that its tiny heart was still beating, and brought it back to the car, keeping it wrapped up and close to his chest.

In the car, Hermione and her mother had already started arguing, and that too had been a very awkward and guilt-laden moment for the boy. He'd kept quiet, peering out the window or checking on the creature while words like "I expected better from you", "I told you it's not safe on your own!" and "your father will hear about this" flew around.

Back at Hagrid's, he'd been once again surprised at how tender and dexterous the giant could be. The inside didn't fit the outside. The outside looked scary, the inside was ridiculously sweet. It was the complete opposite of a certain blond, grey-eyed person, who looked graceful and angelic on the outside, but could turn into the devil himself on the inside. Fred and George had used the words 'snaky bastard' and Harry now understood how they'd come to that conclusion.

Harry's heart had ached a little when he'd had to let go of the small bird he'd clutched close to him for an entire day and night. But he wanted… he _needed_ it to stay alive. He could not let anything or anyone die in front of him again. It was unacceptable.

"Ah! It's a girl!" The bearded man had exclaimed the moment he'd touched the animal.

"How do you know?" Harry had asked. Even after so much time with it, he hadn't been able to make out what it was.

"Hagrid just has an eye for these things." Hermione had simply answered with a cryptic smile on her face. She knew Hagrid quite well. In fact, he was her first friend, her _only_ true friend until a few months back.

Just before stepping out from Hagrid's small house and into the car to return once more to his own residence, Harry had caught Hermione's elbow and apologised.

"Look, I'm really sorry I got you into trouble." He'd played with his fingers as they'd stood by the doorway. Hagrid had been at the back, finding a place for his new patient and preparing its first meal.

Hermione had felt very strange at that moment. She could not recall ever having lived a day like this in her life. Sure, she, Ron and Harry had had superficial moments of glee at school, but their common goal outside the school grounds that day, and the obvious worry for her that Harry showed, were something quite out of the ordinary. They had delved under the surface and uncovered things they hid from the rest of the world.

The smart and lonely girl had been unable to respond to the dark-haired boy's words.

"Will it be all right?" Harry had wondered aloud, glancing at the car through the window, where an angry mother was still fuming. Remembering the fight on the way there, and the words "your father will…" he could not help but seeing images of his own troubles with Vernon Dursley. "Will you get hit?" He'd added when he'd looked back at his friend.

"What?" Hermione had squeaked in surprise. "Of course not! What are you saying?"

_Oh._ The raven had stared in surprise. For why did Hermione look angry now?

_Truly,_ the raven thought to himself as he reviewed the day's events, lying on his bed, _it was a busy and peculiar day._ It had been filled to the brim with new encounters, adventures. With all that had happened, he had not once had to think about what lay under his floorboard. He had not needed to hug his magician-book, or Rebecca's pictures.

The downside was that an entirely new void had been carved out into him. It was accompanied by a constant worry. Worry that the chick might die.

_Oh!_ The raven suddenly straightened up, his head spinning (he hadn't eaten since gobbling down four baked cinnamon rocks at Hagrid's). He'd just had an epiphany (though Harry wasn't sure if he was using the word right, he'd learned it only recently). He hadn't paid attention at the title in the book he and Hermione had looked over in the library. He'd been so focused on figuring out how to keep the little one alive. But now that that was out of his hands, he'd had time to realise the link.

_The Bubo Scandiacus or Snowy Owl_, it had said in the book. The same one his mother had said he would turn into if he rolled in the snow.

Maybe Lily Potter had thought her son's snow covered feathers would resemble the snowy owl's white plumage with black freckles. As if the black underneath was poking out here and there.

A mother would have seen it for certain. But the orphan himself could not understand. And even if he could, he had no time to ponder it further. He was called downstairs to help serve dinner.

The evening meal was a quiet happening that day.

"Where's Dudley?" Vernon asked after a good ten minutes of silence.

"He's at the Polkiss' house. They'll bring him back after dinner." She answered in an even stiffer manner than usual. Even Vernon wasn't used to his wife's attitude.

"Has he been there all day?" Vernon inquired.

"Yes."

Harry focused on his potatoes. For once, he had a large portion, with no 'Dudders' there to take more than his share. But he couldn't help but think back to the weird exchange earlier that day with his aunt. If no one had been home all day, she must've been alone in the kitchen. Why had she been so scared and surprised when he'd come in?

"How was your day?" Vernon asked after another few minutes. He must be trying to make conversation, the raven mused, for usually he only talked about his own achievements at work, though Harry always considered them less than worthy of mention. _His _parents had always had much more interesting things to tell about their work, he thought proudly, but kept chewing his potatoes.

"Well, it was just the usual, dear." Petunia said lightly, but keeping her eyes on her roast beef and onions.

"What do you mean, the usual?" Just as Harry thought, his uncle did not really have a clue what his wife did while he was away.

The dinner went on much in the same atmosphere: a music-less silent movie, sprinkled with a few intermezzo's of awkward and stiff small talk (though the raven thought Vernon was proving himself much less dense than he'd previously thought, for he had clearly also noticed his wife's reluctance to talk much about her activities). It was only interrupted when Dudley came home a little sooner than expected; and while Petunia busied herself with welcoming the Polkisses into her living room for some warming evening tea or coffee, Vernon Dursley took Harry apart in the dining room.

"Listen very carefully, boy!" He began urgently. "You are to stay in this house during my absence and watch very carefully what is going on in _my_ home. I will expect a report every evening. Do I make myself clear?" He added threateningly.

Again, the young boy wondered what was going on. He had not yet observed this kind of behaviour in his uncle and aunt, and he felt that the added tension would not benefit him. Besides, he'd been planning to go see Hagrid at least once a day to check up on the little snowy owl. He hoped that walking two hours in the freezing cold every day would somehow make it survive. If he made that much effort, he concluded, it _had_ to mean something. Someone, somewhere, somehow would see he was really trying, and let him have this. Just this.

Other than that, he'd also started thinking of going to that other library more often. He wasn't so keen on studying, but he had to face it, that essay for Miss Snape was not going to magically fall down from the sky. And yes, he thought he needed some more company. Being alone in his room again, without the presence of the tiny breathing, living creature, wasn't doing him any good. He also felt that the distance between them had somehow lessened. He assumed she would be fine with him sitting at the same table from time to time. He knew not to disturb her when she was concentrated on her work. And if he did not do it too often, she was even happy to help him with some problems he had, so she could show him how much she knew.

That was still the hardest part for him: manage to not roll his eyes or complain when she was being her classroom-arm-permanently-stuck-in-the-air self. In his defence, he was much better at it than Ron, who didn't really feel the boundary and just said whichever came to mind. At least twice a week he managed to make Hermione angry, and then she would stop helping both Ron _and_ Harry, which made Harry complain to Ron, and then the picture was complete. A quarrelling mess.

Diplomacy was a skill the raven was learning to perfect, stuck in the middle of those two.

For all those reasons, Harry ignored uncle Vernon's 'request' and slipped out every day after he left for work. The mystery of aunt Petunia's secretiveness was sort of intriguing, but far from enough to keep him in a house that had Dudley in it, who had developed a habit of aiming his toy-gun at Harry while he was doing the dishes or some other chore and shooting the tiny plastic marbles right at the back of his neck. He had (infuriatingly so) gotten quite good at it, and it _hurt_. Not to mention it was so annoying Harry just wanted to chuck whatever he was holding at his cousin. But that would bring on a punishment far more painful than the marbles.

As the days ticked by and the end of the Christmas holiday neared, Harry was starting to crave school again. His essay was starting to look good with some of Hermione's help, so he wasn't afraid of Miss Snape's class. And school would finally give him an excuse not to be in the house and get Vernon off his back.

His uncle had pestered him every evening, or early in the morning if he hadn't had the chance the previous night, to ask him what had happened, what Petunia had done.

"Do any blokes come by regularly? Does your aunt look happy? Too happy?" He'd asked about halfway through the holiday, when he'd caught Harry in the hallway.

In fact, Harry had noticed a neighbour's presence from time to time. But aunt Petunia had always made sure to get him out of the house, on an errand if needed, whenever that man came by; resulting in Harry not having anything to report to his uncle.

"I don't know." Harry answered. He wasn't sure what his uncle would do if he told the truth. He was afraid of what he could do in a fit of rage. Strangely, he didn't want his aunt to get hurt. He didn't like her…okay, he hated her, but…well… pain, death, blood…no one deserved that. And even if they did, Harry didn't want to see it, _ever_.

"What do you mean you don't…"

But uncle Vernon was interrupted when his wife came into the hallway to go down to the cellar. There was a tense moment while the both of them simply stared at each other. Harry could practically see the rage building up in his uncle, his face turning scarlet, his breathing getting faster, his veins becoming more prominent… But instead of lashing out at his wife, or confronting her about whatever suspicions he had, without even looking at Harry, he hit him, with a fist, right in the stomach.

Harry dropped to his knees, his breathing cut off, clutching his stomach. Greater than the pain was the panic of not being able to catch a breath. Through the shock, he was only vaguely aware of his aunt's exclamations.

"Vernon! I said to be careful! What will the neighbours think if they see any marks on him!"

"_Which_ neighbours?" He mumbled venomously, but only Harry who was closer, heard. "It's just his stomach. Dudley's old clothes will cover it up." He added, more calmly. But, just to challenge his wife it seemed, the bulky man slapped the boy on the head a few times. With an open hand instead of a fist this time. No marks.

Harry's hands didn't know what to do. They were trying to get his airways free again by clutching at his stomach and chest, and trying to protect his head from the oncoming blows, all at once.

After that episode, the raven had been forced to stay in the house for a few days. He'd been too weak and scared to find it in himself to walk all the way to Hagrid's, or even to make it to the library to study. He stayed close to his aunt, dutifully, but the neighbour never showed. The only suspicious occurrences were the few phone calls Petunia received, when her voice turned suddenly as sweet as if she were talking to her dear Dudders.

On the bright side, the baby bird was still alive and gaining strength. Hagrid kept it on a tight feeding schedule, and had told Harry that he was pretty certain it would reach adulthood. The only matter left now, he'd said, was to choose a name. He'd instructed Harry, the finder, to choose one.

The raven had looked through the few books he had in his room (some he owned, some were from the library) and come across a name that reminded him of Hagrid, the one he considered the actual saviour of the animal. He had done all the work, and was going to try and train her to become a real hunter, to release her into the wild.

Hedwig. That would be her name. And it was then that Harry had started to think of 'it' as a 'her'. He promised himself he'd try and visit her regularly after school started again.

After a few more inquiries from his uncle, a few more painful outbursts, a few more marbles shot at the back of his neck, and a few more shrill exclamations and harsh comments from his aunt as he did some chores wrong or not well enough, the last weekend finally arrived. Harry sighed in relief when Saturday began, knowing that uncle Vernon would be home himself, and would no longer depend on Harry for reports he could not give.

He still got insulted for (yes, _again_) burning the bacon. But it was short, and he had gotten past caring about it. Even slaps didn't bother him that much anymore. It was the real hits, the hard ones he feared. With the fist was the worst. But even with the palm, it could be hard enough to knock him off his feet.

None of that for now though, he thought happily. The only downside was that aunt Petunia gave him less than his normal share of eggs and bacon, resulting in his tummy still being unsatisfied when he had to start doing the dishes.

It was then that the doorbell rang. The Dursleys were all comfortably seated in the living room, Dudley watching the telly, Vernon reading the paper, and aunt Petunia working on a costume for her son for an upcoming birthday party. (Harry thought Dudders would be the clumsiest and biggest Robin Hood he had ever seen.) So of course, Harry was instructed to go open the door. He rinsed his hands and hastily grabbed a towel to dry them as he ran for the front door.

He immediately regretted that action once he saw who it was. He was now wearing over-large clothes that had belonged to his cousin and hung to his knees and toes, his hair had gone unwashed and uncombed for several days, and he was carrying a stained dishcloth. He was the incarnation of sloppiness and in front of him stood the much too graceful Narcissa and Draco Malfoy.

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All the support is greatly appreciated :D (translation: _please_ help me, inspire me, and tell me what you think)


	13. Chapter 12

**A/n: **Wonderful thanks to Fireaquila, Kitten in the Shadows, smak978, megipegi, potterbuncker, HobbiyMagic for your encouraging reviews!

I will gladly and selfishly admit: I can't get enough of them :D

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**Chapter 12: Intricacies of Social Conversation**

The raven's mouth opened.

That was it, nothing more. No sound, no movement.

"Harry," Mrs. Malfoy greeted him with a polite smile. "How is your shoulder?" She inquired.

"Good." He instinctively touched his shoulder where the stained towel hung. The soreness had vanished a while ago. "It's good, Mrs. Malfoy." He added after a second, remembering to switch back from 'silent' to 'polite mode'.

The raven's eyes flitted down from the woman with the long white braid to the boy with the same white head. He still had to look up though. It was annoying that Draco was taller. He was already older and more experienced, and he rarely missed an opportunity to point it out.

Draco's face at that moment was impeccable…but impenetrable. No expression could be deciphered there.

Seeing that neither of the boys was prepared to take the first step, Narcissa Malfoy decided to take over. "Harry, we were thinking you might…"

"Don't leave the door open like that!" A shrill voice snapped from behind Harry. "You're letting the warmth escape…" Aunt Petunia's voice wavered as her gaze fell upon the beautiful woman on her doorstep. A quick glance told her that the braided blonde was of a higher class. Her desire for recognition from the cultivated society took over and she responded with her own impeccable manners. Although, these didn't flow from the heart, but from the mind.

"I'm sorry to bother you, madam," Narcissa picked up quickly, "but my son would like to ask you something." And she pushed Draco a little forward so that he stood in the foreground.

Severa Snape had since long taught him to stand straight and move according to his family's values, but Narcissa thought it was about time he learned how to use appropriate language, and how to express himself while considering other people's feelings. She had never been able to get him to actually try before, but now that she had found something he wanted badly enough, she had leverage.

Harry was almost shocked to see Draco flush slightly. He'd never seen that before.

"Err, I'm Draco Malfoy," he addressed Petunia, "and this is my mother Narcissa Malfoy. I was wondering, Mrs. Potter, if Harry could…"

"Potter!" Petunia exclaimed before the boy could finish. She looked so shocked she even took a step back. By her reaction it would seem like Draco had just given her the finger.

Mother and son took a step back themselves, momentarily stunned.

"Vernon!" Petunia called weakly but urgently. She sounded out of breath. Harry's uncle came shuffling through the hallway moments later, bearing a questioning look.

"He called me _Potter_!" She hissed at her husband under her breath. Harry wasn't sure if the Malfoys had been able to hear. Then she turned to look at him. "What lies are you spreading around?" She demanded, though the raven noticed her tone was much softer, more indulgent than normal.

Well, that was it. He was toast, he thought. He _had_ lied to the Malfoys, to everyone; enough to earn him a mile-long nose. He'd spinned that whole tale about his cousin visiting and his parents going to see his grandmother on Christmas. Other lies had naturally added themselves, layering in an intricate jumble that would not be forgiven.

Narcissa sensed that this situation surpassed her son's abilities. She had clearly caught the family at a bad time and she had not expected these developments. She took over the reins.

"I assure you Harry did nothing wrong, madam…" She trailed off questioningly.

"Dursley." Petunia took a deep breath, gathered her wits about her and recaptured a somewhat friendly smile. "Petunia Dursley. This is my husband Vernon. Our son Dudley -he attends St. Grogory's Primary School- is in the living room, and this is Harry, my nephew." She finished. It was the first time ever that she had uttered his name without as much as a grimace. "Would you like to come in for some tea? I baked fresh biscuits yesterday. I would be happy to offer you some; that is if my Dudley didn't get to them first." Vernon and Petunia chuckled nervously.

It had never occurred to Harry, but what a stressful life the Dursleys must lead. They were working so hard to make good impressions. It had to be taking a toll on their mental health.

The whole party moved to the living room where Dudley was introduced. Aunt Petunia went as far as turning off the television and making Dudley say where he went to school and how he liked his uniform and his teachers while Narcissa listened patiently, sipping her camomile tea.

Draco's face still looked impassable, though Harry was certain he must be itching inside to make a sneering comment about some of his cousin's obvious shortcomings.

That was as far as Draco was concerned. For Narcissa, there was another elephant in the room. Maybe a mammoth. Or it might just have been Dudley. Anyway, Narcissa was of course too polite and considerate to immediately come to the topic in question, but she was trying to find a way to work towards it, all the while throwing glances at the little boy in clothes that had clearly belonged to his cousin, and who's face had turned worryingly pale while he sat in his corner, not having touched his tea.

She didn't want to get the shy little boy in trouble, so she didn't mention what he'd told her. "Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, you have a lovely home." She praised them. "I would've loved to see those rosebushes in your front garden in the spring." She knew to add a little detail, so as not to sound forced.

The Dursleys relaxed, seeing Mrs. Malfoy's positive reaction to them.

"You are welcome to admire them when they bloom." Aunt Petunia refilled the empty cups. If it's no inconvenience, of course. Do you live far?" Yes, aunt Petunia possessed subtlety.

"Not that far actually. We live just south of the roundabout by the park." Narcissa replied, liking where the conversation was going. It would lead her where she wanted to go.

"Well, that's a wonderful neighbourhood!" Petunia Dursley exclaimed with genuine enthusiasm, for she knew that the grandest and most ornate homes occupied the streets around that roundabout. She poked her high heel at her husband's ankle, who -apparently just shaken awake- came back to life. "Didn't we always think that was a wonderful neighbourhood?" She added to bring him up to speed.

"Neighbourhood? Oh. Oh, yes. Absolutely." He nodded fervently, sipping from his refilled cup. "I always admire the cars as I pass by. Have you noticed the one in our driveway, it's a…"

Another ten minutes of patience (particularly hard to bear for the two ten-year olds and for the raven who was sinking lower and lower in his chair, wondering when his lies would be exposed, and what was going to happen when they did) were needed for Narcissa to be able to steer back in the right direction.

"I understood that your nephew, Harry, lives here." She began carefully. "Am I wrong?" Always better to suggest that oneself is wrong. It sounds much sweeter to another's ears.

"No, no. You're not mistaken." Petunia spoke with a tender smile on her face, but she wasn't looking at Harry. Vernon stayed quiet and concentrated on his teacup. He could pretend many things, but love was not one of them. "We've taken him in last summer, poor boy." She cast down her eyes for good measure. "My sister and her husband passed away." Mentioning a loved one's death was handy for provoking feelings of pity in other people, she'd found. "They were…involved in some very bad things." She whispered, knowing Narcissa would not ask for it herself, and wanting it to be clear. She wanted people to know that it wasn't _her_ fault if her nephew had turned out as he had, and so she shoved the responsibility to her dead sibling every chance she could. It wasn't like Lily had ever looked back at her. _The mean little witch_.

"Really?" Narcissa didn't really have anything else to say. This was a very different story from the one she'd gotten from the wild-haired boy, who was looking paler than ever and seemed to have a desperate wish to disappear into his too-large clothes. She quickly checked on her son sitting next to her. He had been lying back before, bored out of his mind, but now he was sitting straight as a candle with his feet firmly planted on the ground, as if wanting to bound up in a second.

"It's been a difficult time adjusting for everyone." Petunia continued, not knowing what her nephew could have said. If he'd told about their fights, she needed to make her story match. "But we are all trying very hard. Losing two parents at once…it really is unimaginable for us."

A spark, a flame of coloured skin, fingers digging into his thighs inside his pockets. The raven was doing everything possible to keep his sudden rage from showing; an undying anger against his aunt for daring to pretend she cared anything about his feelings, anything about his parents. He now just wanted to end this, and was contemplating pouring his drink over himself so he could disappear into the bathroom.

The conflict inside Harry's body went unnoticed by everyone, except for a pair of grey eyes among the circle. The blonde was no raven, but he had eyes like a hawk.

"You said your son and Harry attend the same school?" Petunia went on, unaware of anything else but her quest to gain the approval of a seemingly rich and respected Mrs. Malfoy.

"Yes, my cousin teaches there, and though Harry is just seven, he's already in her literature class with Draco." Narcissa lightly rubbed her son's back to get him to relax. His passionate nature led him to do inappropriate things at inappropriate times. This was an inappropriate time.

"Oh, yes." Vernon joined in, finding one thing he could talk about again after his long rant about his company car. "I had to go all the way to the centre of London for that book!" He added a chuckle when Petunia glared at him, just so he wouldn't sound like he hadn't enjoyed the experience, and of course enjoyed taking care of his intelligent nephew.

"Well, we were wondering if Harry would like to spend the last weekend of the holiday with us." Narcissa finally finished what they'd wanted to say at the door. She felt they had wasted enough time on small talk.

Aunt Petunia and uncle Vernon turned on Harry.

The raven's stomach crawled onto itself, shrinking to half its size. His uncle and aunt were expecting an answer from him, but he didn't know which. He tried to decipher from their faces, but it looked like they weren't sure what they wanted him to do either.

He himself was conflicted. On one hand, he was mortified at the idea of going. It meant he would have to do a lot of explaining. It would be the end of Mrs. Malfoy's respect for him. But on the other hand, if he didn't go now, he might not ever have the chance to explain himself, to defend himself and his parents. And it would be the last chance he got to go to the Malfoy manor. Mrs. Malfoy would not extend this invitation again. He had only gone twice, but the feeling of being welcome somewhere, even if he felt he didn't belong there, was nice and warming when he lay alone in the dark at night.

He had to decide, everyone was waiting for him to say something. (Except for Dudley. He was eating cookies.) He moved his head in a way that looked like a cross between a nod and a shake. Then he caught sight of Dudley's toy gun lying under the table and was reminded of everything he hated inside that house. He suddenly felt he didn't want to miss his last chance to get out of there for a while. And even if he got in trouble with Mrs. Malfoy, it would postpone the trouble he would certainly have with his uncle and aunt. Usually, not seeing him for a while calmed them down, so the consequences were less heavy.

"I'll go get my bag." He said in a quick breath and sprinted out of the room before anyone could make him stay. Now that he'd decided, he couldn't handle it if the Durlseys told him he couldn't' go after all.

The raven got his travel-bag from under his bed, the one he hadn't touched since his arrival the previous summer. In a flash he had a change of dull old Dudley clothes (his own really didn't fit any longer), a tooth-brush, his library copy of _Heinrich von Ofterdingen_, and pyjama's (luckily still his own for his mother had bought larger sizes in advance). He wouldn't give Draco the opportunity to accuse him of stealing his clothes again.

Aunt Petunia and uncle Vernon were surprisingly compliant and friendly as they saw Harry off. They were happy to be rid of him for a while, eager to please an important member of society, and from the conversation earlier, they were convinced Harry had not told any filthy lies about them and would not do so either. They'd felt it was safe enough to let him go.

The raven's bag was in the trunk of the sleek 4x4, and he himself seated in the back seat. Draco had taken place next to his mother, clearly stating he was higher placed than the younger kid.

"It's very kind of your aunt and uncle to let you go on such short notice." Mrs. Malfoy began as she revved the engine. Harry nodded at her through the rear-view mirror. "Pardon my son, Harry," she said as she looked disapprovingly at the blond boy's distant countenance. "He was the one who was asking me when you'd come by again. He's been pestering me for two whole days now."

"I was bored." Draco shrugged, looking passively at the passing shrubs.

That sounded more like him that what his mother was claiming, Harry thought. Mrs. Malfoy was probably just being her polite self, and trying to teach her son about white lies. He didn't seem in the mood to learn though.

The ride to the manor was a quiet thing. The raven wasn't able to find anything to say. He was simply waiting for the bad part to come. It had to be coming. Draco was doing his best not to look excited, and succeeded. While Narcissa, once again, tried to get Harry to speak, and Draco to speak kindly. Once again, it was futile.

It was for that reason that she gave up when they got home. She saw that the boy was waiting for it, and it had to come sooner or later. So when they'd hung away their coats and put away Harry's overnight-bag, she prepared herself to ask him.

Draco beat her to it. "Why did you lie?"

* * *

Sometimes I really wish I could somehow put music to books. It helps convey stronger emotions. But I always get distracted when I listen to music while reading or writing.

So, I had a question from potterbuncker, asking me why I decided to make Draco older than Harry.

First, I made Harry skip a grade, so he's actually the same age as Ginny, one year younger than Ron and Hermione.

Second, Draco is two years older than them, and thus three years older than Harry, putting him at the same level as Fred and George, though he's not in the same class as them at school.

Usually, I simply start a story with the first scene, and the situation becomes what it is without me really making conscious decisions. I just felt like jumbling up the age hierarchy, I guess. But it actually fits well into what I have planned for later.

Hope this is a satisfactory answer. :)


	14. Chapter 13

**.**

**.**

**Chapter 13: I always say, aisu-kuriimu.**

**.**

Most people have matching ideas of what comfort is. A room filled with warm colours and soft pillows; the hypnotising sound of the clock accompanied by the crackle and discrete glow of a fire; a warm beverage in one's hand while snow falls outside.

The living room in the Malfoy manor had it all. And _still_ none of its occupants were comfortable.

Narcissa sometimes wondered why she went through all the trouble of being an exemplary member of respected society. Why she tried to please an 'unpleasable ' mother-in-law, why she tried to teach consideration to her son, why she had spent almost an hour that morning making forced small talk with the Durlseys, and why she was still trying to loosen up the two boys to each other.

It was all useless, right? She thought wearily. But of course, she only needed to remember what kind of life she had lived, what choices she had made in the past, to also remember that she deserved much less than she had. And above all, she wanted the very best for her son. Watching him grow up to repeat his father's and her mistakes was her worst nightmare. It would only lead to lifelong misery. Her sole wish was, like every mother in the world should, for her child to live a long and happy life, starting with his childhood.

To achieve this, she wanted to grant him his dearest wishes, while giving him all the experience and tools he would need later on. She found that, though he had friends at school who sometimes came over to play, he still felt very lonely. Oftentimes she had worried that the reason behind it might be he hadn't received enough love and attention during the first years of his life. She was more than willing to give him all her heart and mind, but that was no longer enough. Draco needed a friend, a real friend, a best friend.

Until now, she had not noticed him being interested in a closer relationship with any of his mates (though one girl seemed to be particularly interested in him). That had changed when the younger dark-haired boy had come along.

Narcissa hadn't noticed it until two days previously. Draco had treated Harry as nothing more than a very unwelcome guest. Even their long nightly talk over Christmas hadn't even ended in a friendly farewell the next morning. But then, gradually, he'd started complaining about Harry's absence rather than his presence. He hadn't said it outright of course; he could not admit he wished the company of a younger boy who was so obviously 'beneath' him. (A behaviour that he'd inherited both from his father and Severa Snape.) Nonetheless, he had said enough for her to guess why he was in such a bad mood. And when she had offered to go over and invite that same boy for the weekend, Draco had resisted noticeably less than was natural for him; a sign that should be interpreted as "in fact, I do want him to come over".

Narcissa knew Lucius Malfoy and her cousin Severa well, and recognized a lot of them in her son. She knew how to read him. Unfortunately, the boy clad in a circus-tent couldn't. It was clear he was being misled by Draco's cold countenance. It wasn't helping that grey-eyes had been rather direct in confronting Harry about his lies. His curiosity had taken the best of him, and his feeling of superiority was misleading _him_ to believe that he could demand anything he wanted.

Grey-eyes' pride had been swiftly and efficiently stomped on when his mother had strongly berated him. And that was when the silence had settled over the room, leaving the fire and clock to continue their duet.

"Harry."

The raven quickly wiped the chocolate-milk moustache and looked up at the graceful woman. His eyes followed her white braid down from her neck, over her shoulder, all the way to her waist. It flowed so beautifully, he mused. But what he liked the most was the colour. It was the softest-looking hair he'd ever seen.

"Why didn't you tell me you live with your uncle and aunt? Was any part of the story you told me on the way to the emergency room true?"

"Yes!" Harry hastily answered. "I fought with my cousin and fell from the stairs when he threw his toy at me."

That was good, Narcissa thought. At least, there had been no bad intentions behind the injury. That was something less to worry about.

"What about your parents? Or your sick grandmother?"

"I…I don't have a grandmother." He slumped back onto himself, disappointed he could not give a more pleasing answer this time. "And my parents are dead." It was the first time he spoke the words 'parents' and 'dead' in the same sentence. They didn't fit in his mouth. They didn't flow correctly from his tongue. He drank the last of his warm chocolate milk.

"I'm very sorry to hear that, Harry." Mrs. Malfoy said sympathetically. She glanced at Draco, but knew better than to expect the same from him. Kind words; she knew he could think them, feel them. When would he be able to utter them?

"It's fine."

The two blondes in the room looked up, a little stunned. The words Harry had spoken were innocent enough, but the tone had been alarmingly forceful. A strength hid inside the frail boy that none would have guessed was there.

At once Narcissa's sharp senses understood the topic was closed. The boy was not open for a talk about his late parents, and she had no desire to nose around inside his heart and mind. She was, after all, not his mother and he was not her responsibility. If he asked for help, she would without a doubt grant it to him, but if he wished to stand his own, she would not stand in the way of that.

Besides, she was exhausted. She'd had a lot of stress at work, had gotten another phone call from Lucius from prison for New Years, asking for his son again, and Draco had tested her patience to its limits. She observed the atmosphere in the room for another few silent minutes and concluded that no one was about to kill or be killed, so she left to the kitchen and came back with two bowls, two spoons and two pints of ice cream.

"Listen boys, I'm in desperate need of a bath and a long nap. Here's your lunch." She instructed as she deposited the whole on the salon table. "Draco, don't be greedy and leave some of the strawberry for your _friend_. Don't eat all of it or you'll get sick. Put what's left back in the freezer before it melts." She thought for a moment, "Don't let strangers in while I'm asleep, don't pick up the phone, don't fight. If you go outside, stay in the back garden."

She wondered what else she could say, then she shrugged to herself and left the boys to their own devices for now. Draco knew the rules perfectly. She could only hope he followed them. She was counting on Harry to maybe…keep him in check? Be his conscience? She wasn't sure what kind of balance could be worked out between them. It would be a delicate one if ever there came one. But she had to admit it was not up to her anymore. A parent can only do so much in guiding a child. If Draco really wanted Harry as a playmate, he'd have to swallow some of his pride and make it happen. It was a lesson she had learned much too late, to her greatest regret.

"The ice cream is melting." The raven dared venture a whole ten silent minutes after Mrs. Malfoy had left. He hadn't dared say anything else, and Draco just stared off into empty space. Even though he'd been pleasantly surprised by how little Mrs. Malfoy had cared about his big lie, he was starting to regret having accepted to come.

"I _know_." Draco retorted mockingly, then got up and started scooping strawberry and chocolate ice cream into the two bowls. He took one for himself and settled back onto the couch, leaving the two cartons of ice on the table.

"Err," Harry fidgeted. "Shouldn't we…put the ice cream back?"

"You want to do it? Fine!" Draco snapped and threw a spoonful of pink frozen cream into his mouth.

The raven got up uncertainly, piled the two boxes onto each other and picked them up. He stood there, like a blithering idiot, not knowing what to do with them. "Where?" He simply said.

Grey eyes fastened onto him, took in his stance, the large sweater slipping off one shoulder. The blonde greatly enjoyed this particular moment. There he had the younger boy in a pinch, in his power, uncertain and uncomfortable, ready to do his bidding, following his instructions. A blank salte maybe? He could make him his puppy, maybe?

Harry waited, his hands becoming colder, condensation dripping from his wrists. Suddenly, words came out of Draco's mouth, words that puzzled him, intrigued and fascinated him; an intricate jumble that seemed to be composed only of consonants. Harry stared at the smug look on the blonde's face. He had not understood a thing. He was sure solely of the fact that this time, it had not been French. And remembering that Draco had said Miss Snape had taught him French and Russian, it had to have been the latter one.

Draco stood up, feeling more empowered by the second. And at the same time, he was waiting. He wasn't sure…what for…

Again, consonants, strange sounds that seemed impossible to pronounce to green-eyes' ears, flowed from the taller one's lips. _It's_ _definitely not French_. He was absolutely certain now. And it sounded quite like the Russian names Miss Snape had mentioned from time to time in their literature classes.

The grey eyes were fierce, calculating, scrutinizing. The green ones were frustrated, unsure, thinking furiously of some way to reclaim some dignity.

"Oh, just give it to me." Draco snapped as he stood and snatched the boxes from the raven's hands. He turned and walked to the door, but before he could reach it…

A stranger sound still. A throaty hissing. A threatening music.

Right there, right then, the raven had retaliated in one of the most ingenious ways possible. Draco could speak foreign languages? He would do one better. He _invented_ one on the spot. Thinking of music, of his longing to be familiar with the exotic sound and cadence of another world's words, he'd simply made his tongue and lips move and spit out the emotions he was feeling.

Well, he had to admit, he wasn't entirely inventing it. James Potter had once, just for fun, introduced him to the multiple books containing J.R.R. Tolkien's world, one of the masterpieces of fantasy. The contents were still too dark and serious for a five-year-old (Harry's age at the time), but he'd talked about the different characters, worlds, thoughts and morals, and of course the elaborate lineages and languages. Harry had learned some words, and had soon understood how to create new sounds, ones that didn't exist in the native language. He'd found that the animal kingdom was full of resources.

The sounds he'd made with his mouth, based on sounds he'd heard in nature, sounds the baby owl had made at night in his bed, came out in distinct syllables, and he felt every meaning behind them. They had been filled to the brim with his frustration and rebellion, his unhappiness at Draco's smug intelligence.

Maybe even more incredibly, it was that heavily loaded sense of the sound that had made grey-eyes understand. Even though he'd never heard the sounds in his life, he knew what Harry had said. He knew, and the feeling of expectation in his stomach dissipated. He was no longer waiting.

Unbelieveable! That was Narcissa's first thought when she'd awoken from her slumber and come downstairs. _Un-bloody -believable! _(She allowed herself to curse in her thoughts.) Her son, Draco Malfoy, partly raised by Severa Snape, with the genes of Lucius Malfoy, and the character of a lion crossed with a mule…had obeyed her. The salon table had been cleared, the ice cream wasn't melting onto the carpet, the two boys were still inside, safe, nothing was broken, no one was hurt, no noise had woken her, all was clean, perfect, as she'd left it.

Had she been too sceptical? Was there hope for Draco, oh mighty Draco Malfoy to grow up a sensible human being?

Narcissa went back up the stairs to her son's room, but stayed outside with her ear stuck to the door. She had to know how things were going.

"What's Hogwarts?" She heard Harry's higher voice ask. It sounded less timid, less reserved than earlier.

"I won't tell you." She recognized her son's stubborn voice and raised her eyes towards heaven. _God help this foolish boy._

"Fine." Harry's voice said with surprising nonchalance. "Then I won't tell you who Dumbledore is."

Narcissa had no idea who, or what they were talking about. But she didn't need to know. They weren't strangling each other, that was the important thing. Besides, she had to start on cooking dinner: lots of vegetables to make up for the extremely unhealthy lunch she'd left them with. So she unstuck her ear from the door and shuffled down the hall with a yawn. What would she prepare for dinner tonight?

* * *

What do I have to do

to get all you readers to review?

All of you who pass by here, you are writing the story with me. Seriously, I am not joking.

I want to hear every single opinion out there. Please tell me.

For you who might be curious, aisu-kuriimu (in the title of this chapter) is 'ice cream' in Japanese (アイスクリーム) It's a katakana word that simply spells out the English word phonetically, in the alphabet used to write foreign words with. (words which are not of Japanese origin)


	15. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

**Words and Words**

Friends.

If you think about the word, it's not so hard to find a definition for it. But knowing who your friends are, that is a little harder. Do you call a classmate a friend? Is a colleague your friend? And who is your _best_ friend then? Can you have only one? Or a few? Why are they _best_ and others aren't?

Or maybe, best friends are real friends. But what makes that your other friends? Fake friends?

This one thing the raven knew: Draco Malfoy was not his friend. How did he know it? Well, partly because friends should be equals. Clearly, Draco did not think they were equal. Not in age, intelligence, status, height… But most importantly: this felt very different to Harry than when he was with Hermione or Ron.

Harry felt comfortable with his two school friends. They laughed, joked, quarrelled and helped each other out. But with Malfoy it was always a struggle, a fight underneath the surface. And rejection and snide comments were pretty much the only jokes made. For a while, Harry really hadn't understood how in the world he had ended up there with the 'snaky bastard'.

Until they'd come back to the one topic they'd been able to have a normal conversation about.

"Did you finish your essay?" Harry ventured, sitting down on the carpet in Draco's room. (He wasn't allowed to sit on the bed, or anywhere at the same height.)

"I'd told you to do it for me, remember?" Draco accused.

"I said I wouldn't do it." Harry inflated his chest, but then gave up. It wasn't even visible. Dudley's sweater hung around his body like a potato sack.

"Probably better anyway." Draco shrugged. "You would've botched it."

Harry's eyes flashed, his tongue moved, and the same sounds from before rolled off it. Syllables arranged themselves in a different order and words were formed. They were instantly stored in his head.

Draco looked up. He'd been playing with a toy sword, swirling it around in his hands. His eyes looked only mildly interested, but behind them, he was fiercely scrutinizing his younger schoolmate. He knew three languages, and he'd always been proud of the power it gave him. But no one had ever used his own weapon against him.

Moreover, Draco could not learn the language Harry was speaking. The only way he could, was if he was being taught by Harry himself.

For Draco Malfoy, it was a truly disturbing and fascinating fact. And he had to admit, he'd never been able to invent a language. He was being beaten by a seven-year old!

If it had only been a few words of jumbled English, Draco would not have been impressed. Every kid invented a few weird words from time to time. But he _knew_, without having been told, without having heard more than a few words, he knew this was different. Because the dark-haired boy's eyes were so expressive and flaming wild when he uttered the sounds, and that made him understand, almost _feel_ the meaning as it reached his ears. It was more complicated than a child's secret language. It had new phonetics; it had a structure, grammar… It was a real, entirely new language; born instantaneously from the mind of someone who wasn't even born yet when he was already attending kindergarten.

Harry himself didn't know what he was doing. Most children, even many adults wouldn't understand how impressive this feat was. Ron would wave it off and complain the language didn't have any swear words. Hermione would actually be impressed, but she'd wonder what use it could possibly be.

No, not many would understand. But Draco did. Draco could.

"Say that again?" Grey-eyes demanded sharply, but not accusingly. He wanted to test it, to be sure that the same sentence, with the same feeling and meaning behind it would sound exactly the same.

Harry said it again, diverting his eyes. The words he'd never spoken or even thought of before had welled up in his anger at being belittled. The wave had gone quickly, and it didn't make sense to say it again.

"What did you say?" Draco couldn't help himself, no matter how proud he was. He had to ask, to make sure it fit what he thought the sentence meant. "I mean, in English?"

It was surprisingly difficult for Harry to answer that. He had not thought something in English and then translated every word. He had immediately expressed his emotions. He wasn't sure what the best match would be in English.

He pondered it for a moment. "It means: I … feel" Harry instinctively used his hands to try and explain more clearly "that you are too … hard, or rather strong. But it's a stronger word than that, and it combines the two. More like… over-bearing, authoritative."

"Urgh, you sound like Granger." Draco complained loudly. It was typical of the Granger girl to show off her vocabulary skills when Draco encountered Harry's group at school.

Suddenly, grey-eyes wondered if Harry had spoken his strange language in front of his own friends. He wasn't sure why, but he didn't like that idea.

"You _asked_ me to tell you!" Harry fired back, hurt that he'd honestly told him his feelings, opened his own expression form to him, and Draco had replied with an insult to himself and his friends.

"I didn't ask you to speak like an old woman."

_Old woman?_ Harry thought. That didn't even make sense. Mrs. Figg was an old woman. Harry didn't think he sounded like her. Old women didn't use words like that. His parents had taught him how to learn words from books. It didn't have anything to do with old women. It was even too ridiculous to respond to.

"How would it sound in French and Russian?" Harry asked. He was much more curious about that.

Draco very much wanted to say 'what do you care?', but… it was clear the younger one was fascinated by his knowledge of foreign languages. Green-eyes couldn't hide his wonder as grey-eyes did. And well, Draco liked it. Of course he liked the attention.

Exaggerating on showing how reluctant he was about it, and how he thought it was much too simple for him to even waste his time on it, he resolved to give Harry what he wanted.

"In French you could say: 'je trouve que tu es trop autoritaire' or 'je pense que tu es trop dominant'." As Draco translated and repeated the words Harry had said about him, he was forced to see how the younger one thought of him. It was strange. Almost as if he were admitting it. He didn't like _that_. "In Russian" he went on, "technically it would be: 'ya dumayu chto ti shlishkom komandyushii', though I'd rather go with 'ya dumayu chto ti slishkom nagli'."

Draco reeled at the idea that Harry had called him dominant. He'd known it before, he'd felt the rebellious intentions from Harry's expressive language. What he'd thought he'd understood fit the translation. And still he didn't like someone calling him that. And Harry had gotten him to call himself that, kind of.

Harry reeled because of the sound. French had a funny accent, and it sounded a little stuck-up, but it felt less alien than Russian. The Russian phrase Draco had given had been something else entirely. Harry had no clue how he had to even pronounce it. How would his lips and tongue move? He wondered, he was fascinated, but he didn't dare try. He imprinted all of it in his mind, like he did with his own language, and decided he would try it when he was alone again; for Draco would certainly laugh if he heard him stumble over the many, many consonants.

"Do you have books in Russian?" Harry asked eagerly, wanting to dig further into it. He cracked his skull trying to remember that author from the book his father had been reading. The very last book James had held in his hands. _Tolstoy! _"Like Tolstoy?" The raven added.

"Of course." Draco drawled, as if it was only natural that every ten-year old should have Russian classics, in Russian, in his room. He got up and threw his closet open. Some clothes and toys tumbled out, but he didn't bother picking them up. After some rummaging, he came back out of the deep abyss and threw something at the boy sitting on the carpet by the window.

_This time_, unlike at Christmas, Harry caught the book. He was starting to think this was how Draco generally treated the precious writings. It was how he treated many things, including his friends.

_Oh. _

_Oh Oh Ooh! _This was something entirely else! Where the French book had had a hidden meaning, in this one, _everything_ seemed hidden. The symbols were completely unfamiliar; page after page, after page of undecipherable secrecy, and extreme beauty to the eye. More than ever before, the raven had the feeling that he could absorb the words, the meaning, the feelings, that imaginary world right through the paper.

His fingers touched the ink, and his lips moved automatically, even though he wasn't able to read anything.

Когда, возвращаясь со скачек, Анна объявила ему о своих отношениях к Вронскому и тотчас же вслед за этим, закрыв лицо руками, заплакала, Алексей Александрович, несмотря на вызванную в нем злобу к ней, почувствовал в то же время прилив того душевного расстройства, которое на него всегда производили слезы. Зная это и зная, что выражение в эту минуту его чувств было бы несоответственно положению, он старался удержать в себе всякое проявление жизни и потому не шевелился и не смотрел на нее. От этого-то и происходило то странное выражение мертвенности на его лице, которое так поразило Анну.

Когда они подъехали к дому, он высадил ее из кареты и, сделав усилие над собой, с привычною учтивостью простился с ней и произнес те слова, которые ни к чему не обязывали его; он сказал, что завтра сообщит ей свое решение.

The raven could simply not stop staring. He scrutinized every letter. Some looked just the same as the Roman alphabet, and some looked the same, but in reverse. He wasn't sure if they stood for the same sounds though. It felt like they were taunting him, by looking familiar, but still being out of reach.

Something caught his attention after a long analysis. In the first sentence of the first paragraph was a word that triggered his memory and his sense of language: 'Анна'. He remembered… one of Tolstoy's famous titles… Anna… Anna Karenina. They hadn't gotten to it in class, but Harry had skimmed through their textbook and looked up the authors he was interested in. Of course, he'd looked for the one his father had been fond of, the one he'd proposed him to read.

Harry flipped the book closed to look at the cover. There, the same name followed by something he was certain was the surname: Анна Каренина. And underneath: Лев Толстой. Now he knew what the cover said, he had a few symbols he could read. It was a start.

All the while, grey-eyes was watching prudently. It very much looked like his schoolmate was excited, fascinated, and was even starting to make sense of the symbols. But that couldn't be! Draco had always had the advantage, even over his own _parents,_ to be able to read and speak Russian. He didn't want anyone else to take that away from him; and certainly not the little brat who had already wormed his way into Miss Snape's class, _his_ personal teacher.

Jealousy was bubbling up in Draco's stomach. He had never really felt anything like it. He had never had anything to be jealous about. But it simply wasn't fair that Harry was challenging his superior position! Why could he simply look at his book for a while and already start learning Russian on his own, completely forgetting the one he had admired just a few moments before.

No. The answer was simple, Draco told himself. Harry was simply looking at the symbols. He could not have a clue which book it was. Draco hadn't actually said it was Tolstoy, so he might not even be aware of the author. How could Harry even know Tolstoy? He hadn't been taught personally by Miss Snape.

Draco's hope was quickly shattered by Harry's next question.

"This is Anna Karenina, isn't it?" Harry looked up innocently, unaware of any negative feelings towards him. He'd been too absorbed in the book.

_He looks ridiculous with those round glasses!_ Draco thought meanly to himself before he huffed "Of course." And snatched the book away again, giving Harry a paper cut.

The raven winced and quickly put his finger in his mouth.

"Don't lick your fingers. It's dirty." Draco said condescendingly.

"What do you care, it's not your mouth." Harry retorted, sounding strange because he was still sucking on his index finger.

"It's my dirt."

_Here we go again._ Harry rolled his eyes. "And that's something to be proud of?"

Draco did not have anything to say to that. He felt himself flush a little with all the emotions he was feeling, plus the embarrassment of Harry's quick retort. He didn't want to show any of it, so he left his room with an excuse of going to drink. He was actually thirsty.

The raven was suddenly alone in someone else's room. He missed the book in his hands, the one Draco had taken away. He looked around, but strangely he couldn't find it. What had the blonde done with it? Had he taken it with him to the kitchen?

The raven frowned. He wanted to look more at the book. He'd managed to guess the pronunciation of a few characters, and he felt like he was about to set on a treasure hunt, deciphering the hidden code that would lead him to it. The treasure wasn't money though; the real treasure was the story. Harry wondered; who was this Anna Karenina? Why did Tolstoy think the character so important that he would use her name as title for his work? One name, with pages and pages behind it. What if Harry could find a way to read it?

Something much like an explosion took place in Harry's mind. A delicious feeling of excitement flowed through him. He was imagining himself able to read the entire book, able to speak like Draco had. Draco was so _lucky_!

With no book to keep him busy, the raven looked around for another source of entertainment while he was alone in the room. He knew Draco would be less than pleased if he touched anything, and worse if he moved anything. He simply looked. His eyes fell on the objects that had fallen out of the somewhat messy closet. They were very similar to what Dudley owned. Harry was kind of curious about those game consoles. He'd never played video games; and neither had Ron or Hermione.

It wasn't all the same as Dudley though. First, the clothes and costumes were much smaller. Second, there certainly weren't any books in Dudley's closet. Harry couldn't see if Draco had other books still in the closet, but there was one lying on the floor. It had fallen out too.

On closer inspection, the raven found it wasn't really a book. It was a notebook.

Curiosity flared up again. Harry glanced back to the door. He heard no sound on the stairs or in the hallway. Draco was still in the kitchen. The raven bent back over the notebook and tenderly picked it up from the floor. The cover was blank, so Harry opened it.

Green-eyes was taken aback. The first page was unusual. It was entirely crossed out. On each line there had been one word, and almost all had been scribbled over until they were no longer readable. Only four words remained: Slytherin, Gryffindor, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw.

Harry frowned and squinted. He had never heard those words in his life. They didn't look French though, and they certainly weren't Russian. What were they?

He flipped the page. The second one had a big title: Hogwarts.

"Hey! What are you doing nosing around in _my_ things!"

The raven started and dropped the notebook. It clattered to the floor with a matted sound.

* * *

Thank you's for the continuing support ^^

I will answer potterbuncker's questions her too:

_Why Severa in stead of Severus?_

Again, there is no real reason, other than the fact that in my primary school, there were basically only female teachers, it influenced my idea of primary school. And I thought 'why not?'. It's a fanfiction. As long as we respect the original work, we can try out new things, can't we?

_Why is Lucius in Jail?_

The reason is mentioned in chapter 8, the one about Narcissa. When on the phone with him she says "Why didn't you think of that _before_ you murdered a woman."

Hope you all keep enjoying the story. I am looking forward to your ideas about this chapter :D


	16. Chapter 15

**A/n:** Very Sorry for being late! Exams are coming up again (already!), and time is coming short again... :s

I hope this chapter will make up for those who have had to wait :) If I can be so optimistic as to think any have waited?

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**Chapter 15**

**Under the Sheets**

_Caught. Bad. Pain. _The raven instinctively took a step back and raised his arms in front of him. It was the natural order of things for him that physical violence followed trouble. It had become so. But his conscience mind swiftly recovered control. Harry straightened as Draco picked up his notebook. He brushed it lightly with his sleeve and put it on his bed, in the corner, as far away from Harry as possible. When he turned around, his glare was deathly black.

"You really think you can just do as if you're at home, _Potter_?" He growled.

Harry fumbled with his fingers. He _had_ intruded. He was wrong this time.

But hell would freeze over before he admitted that. He kept his lips glued together, for he had nothing to say. The only thing he could do now was simply stand there, unmoving.

Draco huffed, recovering his pride, grooming his ego. Like a swan whose feathers had been roughed up, he took his time to rearrange them back into place as he lay down on his bed, Harry still standing frozen, not knowing his place. The blonde enjoyed making his 'guest' uncomfortable for a little longer, to be sure the lesson was learned, that _he_ was the boss around here.

After a good ten minutes –an eternity for the raven who had a lot of trouble staying still and keeping his dignity- Draco finally took pity on the boy. After all, Draco was his senior, he was older and so he had a responsibility to lead and instruct the younger generation.

"You can sit." He said patronizingly.

Harry felt like he was at school again, being told by the teacher to sit down. He wasn't sure he wanted to take such orders from Malfoy, but he was tired of just standing, and he didn't know what else to do. Run away? Leave the room? And do what?

Besides, there was something tying him there. There was something he wanted to dig deeper into.

"What's Hogwarts?" He ventured after a while, his voice stronger for he really wanted to get an answer.

"I won't tell you." Draco retorted, stunned that the dark-haired boy even dared to ask!

"Fine." Harry spoke in a breezy tone as if he had not a care in the world. "Then I won't tell you who Dumbledore is."

Grey eyes settled on the younger boy. What was this? What did he mean? What was he talking about? Darn, he was curious! But he wouldn't tell him, he couldn't! No! He thought stubbornly to himself as he fixed the ceiling again and crossed his arms.

"Whatever."

"What's ravenclaw?" Harry insisted. He could only picture the actual claw of a raven and he knew Draco would not be so secretive about a simple object.

Draco never answered. He was getting angrier with this boy by the minute. He could not believe his mother had invited this mongrel. It was the stupidest idea ever.

* * *

When dinnertime came, Narcissa had the opportunity to observe the situation better, and it was to her frustration that she could discern no friendly attachment yet between her guest and her son. She had hoped for more by then. The only consolation was that Harry seemed to be just slightly more at ease in her home. He could speak to her without looking at his feet, though his speech was still very polite and distant; however much she endeavoured to make him call her Narcissa, she was only ever Mrs. Malfoy to him.

Knowing that Draco would not assent easily to eat any green vegetables, and not wishing to make Harry's stay unpleasant by being witness to a selfish outburst, Narcissa had opted to make a vegetable-rich Bolognese sauce, and serve it with Draco's favourite pasta. It was one of the few ways he ate without complaint. The raven too, ate with appetite from her dish and even though it was nothing refined, it filled her with a sense of pleasure and pride that the boys both enjoyed it so much.

After dinner, it was time for separate baths, for Narcissa sensed they were still not intimate enough to spend that moment together. Draco had never been that intimate with any friend of his, and she sometimes worried that he might never be. She caught herself laying all her hope in Harry to change this, to open up her son to the world a little. She had in fact not a clue about Harry's own past, and its lack of intimate friendships.

The boys took turns in the bathroom, Draco being vexed for the guest was allowed to go first. "Manners dictate that a guest must always go first, and get the best quality affordable." Narcissa explained to her son, to no avail. The boys were allowed to watch the television while the other soaked in the water, and afterwards they all watched a movie together. Narcissa proposed to have some ice-cream while watching, but both children had had their fill of sweetness at lunch.

And then it was time for another delicate decision for Narcissa Malfoy. Being aware that there had been a night of closer and more peaceful contact at Christmas when the dark-haired boy had been forced to sleep in the same room as the silver-haired one, and seeing at the same time the distance that still lingered between them now, she was unsure where to propose Harry should sleep.

In the end, she settled for simply asking Harry what he wished, though she was not sure he would dare to express his real wishes. From what she had observed until now, he always put hers and Draco's before his own. Forcing him to choose might place him in an uncomfortable spot.

On the other hand, she had half a mind to encourage Harry to make him stand up more to her son. When she had listened at the door of her son's room before, it had sounded like Harry was already on his way to become stronger in front of Draco, but he looked so much smaller and more frail and timid, that she felt he needed all the help and gentle pushes he could get.

Having no idea which he would prefer, and which he would choose, Narcissa proposed the problem to the boy once the television turned off.

"Feel free to choose whichever you like. It's no trouble at all to prepare the bed in Draco's room." She added, worried that this would influence him to choose the guest room when he really wished to sleep with Draco.

The raven had not expected this choice. Even when he still lived with his own parents, his choices had been limited. They had been very protective and had decided all for him for his safety. He was only seven after all, and knew nothing of the danger. And living with the Dursleys had robbed him of the little freedom that was left. What he ate, when he went to sleep, when he got up, left his room, brushed his teeth, which school he attended, was all decided for him by his aunt and uncle. The one and only choice he had made and to which they had been forced to bend, was his taking Miss Snape's class. He still felt some pride for having been able to get them that far, though he knew that his teacher had been the actual reason.

Not having had many choices, Harry wasn't good with choices. It was not that he didn't know what to choose, he knew he craved the comfortable, warm and quiet guest room. But he felt so out of place among the Malfoys, and was so anxious to get them to accept him, (which had grown even stronger after their finding out he had lied to them about his parents and which Narcissa had unexpectedly forgiven), to get them to not hate him, the dirty son of a pair of criminals, that he wanted to do anything they wanted him to do.

He knew his own choice, but what did Mrs. Malfoy want? She asked him out of respect for manners and common good-breeding, but what did she actually wish him to do?

Sometimes when aunt Petunia was forced to say things she did not mean in front of other people, Harry thought he could often discern her real intentions in her eyes, especially when she was urging him to say or do something to back up her story. He now did the same and looked Mrs. Malfoy in the eyes, but having never looked at them while she was fixing him, he found he could not hold her searching gaze for long. He was left with no clue as to her wishes.

Draco was getting impatient and though his mother had defended him to interfere, quickly burst forth and made his wish clear. That Harry was _not_ allowed in his room, and certainly not _his_ pyjamas.

Harry, who was growing weary of grey-eyes' constant telling him everything in the world was in _his_ possession, wanted to fire back that he had his own things in his overnight bag, but dared not in front of Mrs. Malfoy, who was already scolding Draco for his rudeness.

But at least, he had never had to doubt about Draco's wishes. It was always perfectly clear what he wanted, and in this instance, it was the same as what Harry himself desired. Not knowing what else to do, and not wanting to force Mrs. Malfoy to wait much longer, or to make her drag the mattress into Draco's room to make him a bed on the floor, he finally decided on the guest room.

Narcissa agreed with a radiant smile, in this way showing him she approved of his making a decision for himself, and hoping to encourage him to do it more in the future.

* * *

The raven was even more comfortably settled than the previous time. He was now clad in his pyjamas, the only clothes he owned that were still his very own; not Draco's nor Dudley's. The scent of fresh and clean sheets filling his nose, the feel of fitting soft pyjamas on his skin, and the fresh memory of the film they'd all watched left him with something to fantasize about as he departed into a blissful slumber.

His fantasies began to live their own life, slowly turning dreamlike and not really making sense anymore. But Harry forgot every fleeting image and feeling as soon as it had passed. He was descending further and further, shutting out the outside world more and more, sinking… when something started pulling him back. The mattress was moving under him, disturbed by something, and Harry was half-roused.

The first thing he was aware of before he even opened his eyes was the stuffy air. It was hot around him and he felt like it barely contained oxygen. He needed to breathe fresh air, and started to move to find it, then noticed the quilt was drawn over his head. He opened his eyes, but in the dark and without glasses it did nothing to further his progress.

He had only woken a few seconds ago, and began pushing away the quilt but someone stopped him with a hiss.

"Shhh, don't!" Draco's voice whispered very near him. Harry became aware of the extra body heat on his left. When he moved, his legs came in contact with Draco's. But he was still too drowsy to wonder at his presence or closeness. "If we talk above the covers mum will hear us."

Harry squinted but could not discern his neighbour, though from the skin contact and nearness of his voice he had to be right next to him. He noticed however that his older schoolmate was sitting upright, holding the quilt up so as to form a tent, for it no longer touched his head.

"Wha…wha'izzit?" Harry mumbled, feeling hot and stuffy and displeased at having been torn from his dreams, though he could not for the world remember what they had been. And at the same time, he felt a strange sort of relief, as if maybe his dream had not been so pleasant, and was grateful to have escaped from it.

"Tell me who Dumbledore is." Draco demanded.

"Huh?" Without oxygen, light, and wondering what he had dreamed that had left him slightly unsettled, Harry was slow to catch up. Draco, who obviously had not yet closed his eyes and was wide awake, had no patience.

"Dumbledore! You mentioned him before, but you wouldn't tell me. Who is it?" He pressed.

"You first!" Green-eyes exclaimed quietly, remembering why he'd brought up the subject in the first place.

"No, you! I'll tell you what Hogwarts is if you tell me who Dumbledore is."

"I asked you first." Harry protested, feeling he was in his right to do so.

"But it's my house and clothes, and…"

"It's my pyjamas!" Harry hissed back in the dark, compact space under the sheets.

"It's my mother!" Draco finally exclaimed, the one possession it had bothered him the most to share with Harry. His mother being the only one of his parents to care enough for him to have come back, he felt he could not spare any of her love and attention. He didn't want her to like Harry better, and leave him again. He didn't want to have to live with Severa again as he had done until h was four.

The raven had something on his tongue, and it was aching to burst forth from his lips: "I have no mother!" Draco was always so very, very unfair, and it angered him so much! But he clutched at the sheets and pressed his lips together furiously, for he would not admit _that_. He would not show Draco how much he cared and he would certainly not show him the tears that were burning just at the edge of his eyelids. They might not be seen in the dark, but grey-eyes was so close that they must certainly be heard or even felt.

"You went through my things." Draco accused at last when Harry kept quiet.

To this the raven had no answer. He was guilty as charged. He _had_ let his curiosity wander where he knew he wasn't allowed. But he didn't care. He was angry at Draco for being so mean and unreasonable, and above all for making him feel like he felt: at the edge, pushed into a corner.

* * *

It's a passionate and complicated relationship arising...

I was wondering how you all like Narcissa? I've been giving her more attention than I'd intended.


	17. Chapter 16

**A/n: **Yeeeej! So many reviews! More than I expected :D Grrrrrrreat! *lick my lips*

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**Chapter 16**

**Hogwarts**

"You went through my things." Draco accused at last when Harry kept quiet.

To this the raven had no answer. He was guilty as charged. He _had_ let his curiosity wander where he knew he wasn't allowed. But he didn't care. He was angry at Draco for being so mean and unreasonable, and above all for making him feel like he felt: at the edge, pushed into a corner.

There was a tense moment during which Harry seemed to hesitate about what to do or what to say, until he felt he could no longer put up with Draco's selfishness, pushiness, and many other tiring traits. The raven sighed heavily -it sounded more loudly under the covers than he'd expected- and lay back down, turning his back to his neighbour, deciding upon ignoring him and going back to sleep.

Unfortunately his curiosity for the words he had read in the notebook had made him more awake than before. But however much he wanted to know, he wasn't sure Draco would ever tell him, even if he agreed to his demands. He thought he might just give up now, instead of being disappointed later. He could not count upon Draco. Draco was not his friend, he reminded himself.

As grey-eyes watched the younger boy's weary expression (Draco's eyesight was much better than Harry's and he could discern much more in the dark space than Harry thought), and saw how he turned away and buried his head in his pillow, a feeling snuck up into his stomach. It was an unsettling feeling, for he had not yet experienced it before: he became aware that he might have gone one step too far.

Never had the white-haired, proud Malfoy thought much of how his actions and words affected others, despite the many warnings and lectures his mother had bestowed upon him. Still, he wasn't fully aware of it, had not yet realized it completely, but at least he felt it instinctively, a _regret_ at what he had said.

It was because Harry had completely shut himself off. He had not gotten angry, or spoken his strange expressive language, or become shy and still; he had cut off all communication. _That_ was a sign to Draco, which he could not have understood from anyone but the black-feathered one, a sign that Harry was no longer interested in him, no longer moving towards him, but rather away from him.

For anyone else, Draco would not have cared. Well, except for his mother of course, and maybe Severa if she had ever shown any emotion to begin with. But with Harry especially, it displeased him. He wanted to keep being admired as he had been a few hours before. His notebook having been looked through was not nearly as bad as he had pretended it to be, though he only saw it now. It had been a sign of interest in him, in his thoughts, in who he was. He wanted to keep things that way. But how?

Harry was lying still, maybe already asleep, and Draco was still sitting in the small hot space, holding up the sheets. He looked at his schoolmate, wondering how to get him to speak again.

It took him longer than any other child to finally come to the conclusion that he might try to concede, and give Harry what _he_ had wanted. It was not something usual for him, and therefore it had not immediately occurred to him.

Grey-eyes cleared his throat. "Fine. I'll tell you about Hogwarts." He grumbled, grinding his teeth.

Green-eyes, who had naturally not been able to really fall asleep with Draco right behind him, feeling his eyes on him, turned around again, propping himself up on his elbows. "And Slytherin?"

"Yes." Draco sighed reluctantly.

"And Ravenclaw?"

"Yes."

"And Gryffindor?"

"Will you listen or not?" Grey-eyes snapped.

He had spoken so loudly that both boys held their breaths for a minute, listening for any sign they had woken Mrs. Malfoy.

"I'm listening." Harry said when the coast was clear. He settled back onto his pillow, ready to open his mind for the new exciting information he had not expected to have the privilege to know.

Feeling that his arms were growing tired of holding up the sheets, the blonde boy settled onto his back himself, propping up an extra cushion to hold up the covers, so that only their heads were still free of it.

"Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry." He announced the full name in a proud whisper. "It's a school for witches and wizards; the best in all of England." Harry could not see the sparkle of life in Draco's eyes as he spoke, but he clearly heard it in his voice. It ignited his own imagination, his delight at fantasy. He immediately began picturing it in his mind as grey-eyes continued. "It's more than a thousand years old; a grand stone castle surrounded by mountains, forests, and a lake. It was founded by four witches and wizards, and they each gave their name to the houses that make up the current student body: Hufflepuff, Gryffindor, Ravenclaw and Slytherin. There is lots of competition between the houses, but the Slytherins are obviously the best. _I'm_ a Slytherin. We belong to the oldest wizarding families!"

"What are the other houses like?" Harry asked, eagerly joining Draco in his own world, one he'd created during long idle hours.

"The Ravenclaws give priority to their studies, to knowledge. They're the ones more likely to be working in the library during the holidays…you know, like your know-it-all Granger friend."

It did not please Harry to hear the tone with which Draco spoke of Hermione. She certainly deserved much more respect. But as they were now talking of Hogwarts, and it did not feel like Draco had said anything bad on purpose, he let it pass. Besides, he was rather right. It _was_ very much like Hermione, and it surprised him that Draco knew her well enough to know that. To his knowledge, they had only spoken when hostilities were opened in the middle of the school hallways. Those grey eyes were more observant than anyone ever expected.

"Hufflepuff is for the loyal ones. They don't have many more merits than that. They're more like your stupid friend, the red one." He referred to Ron. Again, the same feelings Harry had had about Hermione applied to his male best friend, but he kept listening quietly.

"And Gryffindor is for the stupidest ones. They're all gold and shiny, and like to show they can do it all, but they're always beaten by the Slytherins who are much cleverer. But I'll admit they have a kind of wild and careless bravery. _You_ would be in Gryffindor."

"Me?" Green-eyes breathed, feeling his heart swell and forgetting he was among the 'stupidest' ones. He had delighted to enjoy viewing his schoolmate's world, but had not at all expected to be included, to be allowed to step into it. It brought him a whole new sense of joy and pride. Suddenly he felt even warmer under the quilt than he had before. He was sure his cheeks were flaming.

"There is a House Cup every year," Draco continued, hearing Harry's question, but instinctively ignoring it, feeling he should not like to answer it honestly. "given to the house who has gotten the most points. The points are given by the teachers during the year, for good answers and participation in class and such. They can also be deducted as punishment."

"Who has won it last year?" Harry wondered.

"Slytherin, of course." Draco huffed.

"And before?"

"Slytherin."

"…"

"…"

"Slytherin can't _always _win!" The younger one complained.

"Of course they can. I told you they're _obviously_ superior."

"Then Gryffindor would win all the other cups!"

"There are no other cups." Draco said matter-of-factly.

"Of course there are." Harry smiled, mistakenly thinking his neighbour could not see.

"Really?" The older one challenged. "Tell me which, then?"

It took a moment, but it was not all that hard for Harry, after having found a way to put his emotions into unknown words before, to invent one on the spot.

"Uh…the…the Quidditch Cup!" He exclaimed loudly and proudly at last.

Again, both boys waited anxiously for a sign they had made too much noise, and woken she-who-must-not-be-woken.

The white-haired boy was not pleased. _He_ had had to try and try again, and cross out so many attempts in his notebook before he had come up with just the names of the houses. While it seemed to simply flow from Harry's mind, effortlessly. But it was not over yet. _He_ had invented an entire school. Could Harry use his imagination in the same way?

It turned out he could. Harry had no trouble at all making up things, inventing worlds. Many hours of boredom had been filled in this manner. It was not long before he had told Malfoy of the popular wizarding sport played on brooms, and Malfoy, losing some of his resentment in his excitement, engaged himself into inventing rules for the game with Harry.

All night long they had hidden under the hot covers of the guest-room bed, having to come up for air from time to time, building onto what Draco had already moulded, adding details here, and entirely new sections there.

It had been a while before Draco had finally remembered he had asked a question too. And soon after, Harry had told Draco of the wise magician of his book, the book he had read the night before his life changed and which he had hugged at night, which now hugged the pictures of his parents and himself, under his floorboard. It was him, Dumbledore, who he admired most of all characters, who had died in the story, but who continued to live perpetually in his mind.

Hearing Dumbledore's description from Harry, Draco had agreed that he was without a doubt the best headmaster that Hogwarts could ever have. And this first name, first teacher had made them add many more names to the total. Draco choosing to name his head of house 'Snape' (Harry had rolled his eyes at that point, and had finally realized that Draco _could_ actually see him under the sheets when he'd gotten a fist in his shoulder), and Harry, inspiring the character somewhat from Hermione, had decided upon the name of McGonagall, a severe but brilliant and righteous head for the proud Gryffindors. Harry had made her more than a worthy opponent for Draco's Professor Snape.

Debates followed of who were the best professors, the best quidditch players and such. There was no stopping the two…friends?...from keeping it up all night long, as was plainly visible to Narcissa at breakfast.

_Finally_, she thought, seeing what she had expected to see quite a bit sooner. Her heart was lifted, to see her son, if not yet very friendly, at least more accepting and engaging with their little black-haired neighbour. And it looked to her, though she was not sure it was a good sign, that Harry was much forgiving of Draco's somewhat meaner words and reproaches he uttered from time to time. Would this be an advantage or disadvantage to a growing friendly relationship?

For instance, Narcissa had prepared hot chocolate for them, and the younger one had burned his tongue in his haste to taste something he hadn't had in such a long time. The older one had rebuked him for it. Narcissa had not understood the word Harry had said then, assuming she had not heard correctly, but he had looked quite sorry, maybe even submitting.

The young mother decided to shake those continual worries away, telling herself they were both just tired and that it caused a lessening of spirits in Harry; nothing a good long nap couldn't cure. And so the boys were once more sent to their rooms, though this time Narcissa made sure Draco stayed in his own bed, and they didn't come out again before lunch.

The rest of the day was spent in much of the same conversation between green-eyes and grey-eyes. They built upon the world of Hogwarts, inventing a ministry of magic, but not getting very far upon that point. Quidditch was soon taken up again, it was much more interesting. Both Draco and Harry found themselves wishing to be seekers, the ones who chased the tiny golden ball with the fluttering wings.

It was a wonderful time for the raven. He felt truly accepted by his school senior for the first time since he'd seen him arguing with his mother in the street, and bumping into him at the park swings. But he did not live with the Malfoys, he was not a Malfoy. Even though he wasn't a Durlsey, he had to return to them some time.

Still, he tried to put it off until the last minute, and when Narcissa found it was time to bring him back, for it was a school day the next day, Harry asked her to bring her to Hagrid's address. The raven longed to see Hedwig one last time before school started again. It would give him something to hope for, seeing how well she was doing. Maybe he would even see Hermione there? They had visited together two times, after studying in the library.

Mrs. Malfoy was hesitant at first, for he said he would walk home from Hagrid's. She hoped he would be able to make it before dark. She deemed his coat too thin for the wintry frosts of England, but he was so adamant, and _she _had been the one encouraging him to speak his mind, utter his wishes.

Draco stayed home, cherishing all the additions made to his Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, while Harry was dropped off, and knocked on Hagrid's door.

"Ah Harry!" Hagrid exclaimed in delight as he saw the little head of black hair at his waist. Fang, his dog was out in a second, covering Harry's face in his saliva. It wasn't exactly pleasant, but it felt more like home than anything he'd experienced at the Dursleys, or even the Malfoys. It was so easy to speak with Hagrid.

"Yer missed Hermione!" Hagrid beamed. "Jus' here an hour ago. Such a good girl. Yer lucky to have 'er as a friend, Harry, I can tell yer."

Harry smiled warmly, in a good mood from his pleasant night with Draco. But he longed to see _her_ now.

_Hedwig._ His heart swelled each time he approached the little makeshift nest Hagrid had made for her.


	18. Flash Forward 2

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**! Attention !**

**Another Flash Forward with possibly a few spoilers, **

it depends on how well you pay attention ;)

It takes place 11 years later than where we are currently situated in the story.

(for those who would like to do the maths on our protagonists ages and such)

Enjoy!

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"I can take care of myself!" The raven lashed out at grey-eyes, trying to hit him in the face, to show him what he was capable of. But Draco had training instincts on his side, and in a second had stopped Harry's fist. Harry wasn't easily subdued and was quick to come back, which ended in him flat on his stomach on the couch. The black-haired adolescent struggled for a few seconds, but seeing as it was futile and it only made him look weaker and more pathetic, he calmed down and instead tried to keep his head up as high as possible.

"You have the ways of a criminal." Draco observed and explained, but green-eyes made no answer.

Draco was unharmed, and quite satisfied with himself. He was in the power position, holding Harry firmly in place as he had learned to do, and watched Harry's arched back and neck as he slowly stopped moving; heard his hectic breathing…

Something like excitement rose deep in the blonde's stomach; something like fever overwhelmed him and made him waver. Images that had nothing to do with the situation intruded his mind, thoughts that…

He immediately released the black-haired one, as if Harry's wrists had burned his hands; then walked behind the bar into his open kitchen. His hand grabbed the first bottle of hard liquor he could find without him seeing what it was, poured it into a glass and leaned against the counter, sipping in silence.

Green-eyes on his side, straightened and shook his feathers, trying to regain his dignity. He glared for a moment at the blonde's back, then went to sit on the windowsill to smoke his weed, equally silent, watching the nightly activities of London beneath and shivering at the frigid air blowing through the open window, through his hair.

Neither of them bothered to turn on the lights. They sat in silence in the darkened space, alighted by the rays of yellow street lamps alone. The moon was absent.

It was a while before Draco could convince himself to move again. Swallowing the last of the burning liquid, he put away his glass and pushed himself off the counter. His hand went up into his white hair as he walked briskly to his bedroom.

"Help yourself to anything you want." He threw over his shoulder, not daring to look at the figure huddled by the window. "I'll see you in the morning." He added before closing the door. He suspected that green-eyes wouldn't be there when he re-emerged, but there was not much he could do about it. Harry was just as stubborn as he was, if not more. He seemed to have become more obstinate and uncatchable since they'd parted years ago.

But Draco could not stay in the same room with him any longer. He flung his coat on a chair and kicked his shoes under it before slumping onto his bed and starting a long night of staring into the shadows.

_There's something wrong with me. There's something wrong with me. There's something wrong with me._ He kept repeating to himself, remembering what he'd caught himself thinking.

* * *

The sun had not risen yet when Draco came out into his living room. His empty living room. The blankets and sofa were untouched. Harry had not even slept there.

A shower was supposed to make him look more alive before going to work, but it did not help to shorten the torturously long morning, and afternoon. Draco was still the youngest in the force, and still quite fresh from training. His lack of experience kept him bound to his desk for most of the time, but he felt the pressure more than ever.

Despite that pressure to prove himself, he was unable to concentrate. Not until he was able to leave for a while, having managed to arrange a meeting with Blaise.

"Aren't we going to drink something?" Blaise wondered as they walked aimlessly up and down a boulevard close to Draco's office. "It's freezing." He complained as he tightened his scarf about his neck.

The blonde had his hands thrust deep into the pockets of his coat. The wind blew his hair in front of his eyes, concealing the troubles that went on in them. "I have to go back to work afterwards." He said in response to Blaise.

"Have they given you something real to do yet?"

"I already do _real_ things." Draco said indignantly.

"I mean, something besides collecting and processing information all day long."

"It's important work!" The white-haired young man defended. "They can't send us off in the field just like that."

"Isn't that what your training was for?"

"Shove off, Blaise." Draco was hardly in the mood for his friend's teasing. He wondered whether he'd done good in calling Blaise, for he wasn't exactly the most serious man in town. But who else could he have asked? Ron? Hermione? They would kill him with their bare hands if they knew what he thought of Harry…

At least, Blaise would keep silent about it. If he couldn't get decent advice from him, he could talk to him in confidence, get a little of it off his chest without having to fear being judged.

"What is it that you had to see me so urgently, and make me walk out in the cold instead of offering me a pint." Blaise jeered.

Draco was grateful that they weren't in a bar. He already had trouble enough getting the words out, but he felt safer doing it under the cover of the city noise around them, rather than risking being overheard, even in a crowded bar.

"There's something wrong with me, Blaise." He repeated what he'd told himself all night, over and over.

"I know that." The scarfed one joked. "You'll have to be more specific."

Draco stopped walking and turned his glare towards his companion, trying to convey the earnestness of what he wanted to say. Blaise seemed to understand, and became more subdued as they walked on, passing a quiet post-office, then a bustling internet-café, and an even busier Starbucks, the safe haven of the working class during the wintry months.

"I've had a fight…recently…It wasn't a real fight, just some…anyway. I controlled the situation, but then…I caught myself thinking things. Violent, unhealthy things. And it's not the first time. It's happened a few times. It's like something is driving these insane images into my mind."

Blaise had quite a bit of trouble understanding the jumbled up confession. But he had a quick enough mind to puzzle most of it together. Draco's obvious shame and disturbed condition were good indicators of what those 'insane images' could be.

"My dear Drake," Draco winced, he hated that nickname. "How long has it been since you did the shaggy?"

Blaise was one of those people who have an infinite number of 'euphemisms' for sexual intercourse at the ready. If the blonde hadn't been buried in his own coat, he would've rolled his eyes. Instead he plunged into his memory. These days, he hadn't had any time for such things. He was either working, or with Harry, or worrying about Harry, or talking to Ron and Hermione about Harry… Even by himself, he hadn't had much action.

Could it be he was only frustrated? That he needed an outlet? He'd never experienced a dry period before, not since he'd become sexually active.

"Don't be angry with me," Blaise continued tentatively when Draco made no answer, "but do you remember Eric?"

Draco nodded, recollecting the man he'd had a short-lived relationship (one of the few worth that name) with. It had been an unusual partner for him, for he preferred more feminine men, younger, more androgynous. Maybe his bisexuality influenced his taste, making him look for women in men? Eric was the only man who had not fit that description, who had actually been taller and older than him.

"Well", Blaise went on carefully, "we met up a few times, you know, nothing serious. Just having some fun."

"What?" Draco turned on him, more surprised than angry.

Blaise spoke hurriedly. "You know he's always been more my type than yours. But like I said, it wasn't serious. And it was a long time ago." He held up his hands defensively.

The blonde couldn't deny he was annoyed. But it rapidly died away. Indeed it was a long time passed. He'd long stopped caring for Eric. And besides, it didn't matter anymore _now_.

"What does Eric have to do with this?" Draco asked indifferently, showing his friend he wasn't holding it against him.

"Well," Blaise sounded relieved that he'd been forgiven. "He told me that, when you and him were together, he'd thought you were sometimes a little too intense."

"Intense?"

Blaise nodded. "A lot, in fact. His words." He added hastily.

This forced Draco to another memory. Much earlier, when he was still a growing adolescent. His mother had sometimes expressed her worry, that he was too passionate, that he let his emotions take over too easily. He had in fact worked on it. During his training in the force too, he'd learned to keep his feelings in check. He was perfectly able to control himself in everyday life. But in love and even just in physical relationships…

"Draco." Blaise called him out of his reverie by taking his arm and stopping him. "I know that you won't go around raping anyone. If you were a sociopath, or a sadist, I would know by now; _you_ would know. You certainly behave like it sometimes, but there's not a doubt in my mind that you're just like me."

The weight was slowly lifting from Draco's chest, the ominous clouds above his head were dissipating. "I'd rather not be like you, Blaise." He even added with a mischievous smile.

His friend laughed heartily. Nothing could ever offend him. He never took anything seriously enough to be offended.

"Just slow down a little, mate." Was the wise parting advice Blaise gave Draco.

_Slow down_. The latter thought as he hurried back the way they'd walked, to his desk and paperwork. _Keep the intensity in check._ It sounded simple this way, away from the object of his passion, away from the small match that could light him on fire. It seemed small and insignificant. He felt confident again that he would not do something irreparable.

* * *

Here it is, all laid out for you. I wonder what you got from this. Is it too obvious?


	19. Cho's Diary

**A/n:** Hello ladies (and gentlemen, who knows?)

First of all, thank you thank you thank you for the beautiful reviews ^^ You know I love them. keep it coming, please!

Now, I won't tell too much about this fragment, for I'll leave you to figure it out by yourselves. I think it's more fun that way. ;) I'll only say it's a fragment from Cho's diary, and it's from the future (though not as much into the future as the flash forwards.)

I hope I'm not confusing you guys too much.

My sincerest apologies if I am :s

* * *

**Cho's Diary**

I know I'm supposed to write every day. It's the rule when keeping a diary isn't it?

The truth is, I don't care enough about my life to feel the need to write about it. One might say it's an occupation for the self-centred, don't you think? And who am I talking to anyway. If I don't care to write, I certainly won't care to read. And I can think of none else who would, for I'm not foolish enough to write anything down that will get me killed.

* * *

I'm not sure why I wrote that last entry. When did I even write it? I was high most probably. I'm high now too. It doesn't even matter on what. I think it's going to kill me either way. And since I realised that simple fact, I guess it wouldn't be such a bad thing to write things down. I feel an urge at the end of my life to leave something of me behind. I can find no other way than this diary. This notebook had no idea how important it would be when it was bought by my hands.

* * *

It seems I'm stuck. I said I would write, but I abandoned the previous entry, because I did not know what else to write. Now that I have discovered a desire to write, I can't possibly find anything to say. I live for nothing but the next hit. It's all I look forward to, all that makes me get up and get to work. I'd sworn to myself it wouldn't happen _to me_. It's the silliest, but worst mistake of my life.

Should I tell you what my job is? Oh well, I shouldn't be afraid to shock myself.

I was wrong, I do shock myself. I don't want to admit it. It doesn't matter. I know what I do, I don't need to write it.

I hate this diary thing.

* * *

I'm sorry. And I don't know who I'm apologizing to. I should just tell you to fuck yourself. And then I think, is that person me? So I'm insulting me? Well, fuck you bitch!

God I'm laughing so much it hurts. Bella brought me something nice. I've never heard of it before but it feels better than snow, and crazier than acid. She said it's gaining popularity, I can't believe I didn't try it before. And it doesn't cost me too much, so I don't have to take on more clients. Them filthy worms.

It's cheap because it's made by the _bosses_ (Imagine me saying this in a sneering tone). It has the same name as the organisation: SH, Sedate Heart. Did I tell you?

Well, I know, I don't need to tell myself, you cunt.

I'm sorry I'm swearing again. I didn't mean it. This stuff makes my hand write without me thinking about it. It'll be the first longer entry thanks to that.

So, Bella calls it 'sshhhh', like when you tell someone to shut it. 'Shhhh' get it?

I'm laughing again. Good gracious I love this Sedate Heart thing. Why didn't the _bosses _(again, bosses=sneer. Sneer sneer sneer and more) give us some? They should pay us with ssshhhh. And we'd do everything they want. The clients can do whatever, I wouldn't even notice. Them filthy worms. In the rain. In the perpetual bloody rain. The earth worms.

I'm cold.

* * *

I am fooling myself. There is really nothing of my own life worth putting down. But maybe it'd be nice to say something about Bella, and Christie. And about that new one. I'd never thought I'd see a boy in our midst. He's certainly worth writing about.

I've only caught glimpses of him however, I don't really know anything, and neither does anyone else.

I wonder what he's here for. He'll probably be gone in a few days. I can't imagine what he's doing here. I've heard rumours, but I never trust such things.

I'll leave it at that for the present.

* * *

Christie saw him yesterday. They've fitted up a room on the top floor for him. We're not allowed to go there, nor to talk to him. Flint says the boy moves in different circles, though what that is supposed to mean I can hardly conjecture.

Oh Good Gracious, I've just noticed the language I used in previous entries. It's truly dreadful. I wasn't very lucid, but still, it's an awful read.

If I write again, it will be the same though. Bella is still taking SH, but Christie has persuaded me to keep off it. She heard things, rumours again, but Bella can't be kept away from it.

Christie seems worried, as if she expects Bella to drop dead tomorrow. We know we'll all die in some years, but not now…

I don't want to die just yet. It's silly I know, seeing as how I chose to live my life. I myself don't see any appeal in it. And still, I don't want to let it go.

* * *

I have to hit the streets in a few minutes, so I don't have much time, but I absolutely have to write what happened.

It was the middle of the day and I'd only gotten to bed a few hours, so imagine my dismay (with dismay I mean a roaring angry yeti, ask Christie she saw my face) when there was a hellish noise coming from the top floor.

When me and Christie got out of the room, we soon forgot to be angry. I was and still am rather worried, for we heard screaming. It was high-pitched, but broken through. I'm certain it was the boy. He must be at the point where his voice changes to a man's.

He's the only male in this place at that stage in life, so I cannot have been anyone else but him. Unless they keep other boys up there? What for?

Have to go now. Christie's tapping her foot. You know she does it on purpose to annoy me and get me to move faster.

* * *

It's been a long time since I picked up this notebook.

These last two weeks have been hell.

Bella, I'm not sure what's happened to her, but she is getting very depressed. More than we all already are. Usually we try to make the best of it, but lately she's been caring about nothing but the sssshhh drug. The SH I wrote about before.

It's as if she's married with it. We're not allowed to say anything about it. She's thrown (literally took her by the collar and _thrown_) Christie out of her room when she went in to try and convince her once again to stay away from SH. It's sacred for her, and she'll never ever stop.

At those times, Bella seems like a complete stranger to us.

But then at other times, she becomes so dejected that she's not able to work properly anymore. The clients aren't coming to her like before. She doesn't take care of her appearance, and she looks depressed. They don't want that. And then she starts to worry that she won't bring back enough money to keep Flint happy. And if Flint isn't happy, it's because he knows that he'll get in trouble with Avery, and then the Lestrange woman will come to take care of things.

You _do not_ want to have to see Lestrange. Believe me. Bella is scared to death that she'll come. It's but a rumour, but still everyone knows it's a fact, that she's as cruel and dead-hearted as Riddle. Besides, she is crazy.

This is what we've been dealing with for two weeks. First Christie and I are insulted and literally kicked out by Bella, and at other times we try to console her for hours on end, trying to get her up the hill again, so that she can make more money.

I've been thinking to give her some of my share. I've got a little more clients than what I'm expected to have. But I'm afraid Avery will get suspicious. Flint is too slow to discover anything strange in our money affairs, but Avery will stick his nose into it.

* * *

Good news! I think Bella is doing better. I wouldn't say 'well', but certainly 'better'. I've given her my extra money, so Flint didn't notice how few her clients have become. And Christie and I have helped her with her preparations in addition of our own before work, and we try and lighten the mood as much as possible, so she'll smile. With all this combined, she's gotten her fair share of money to hand to Flint again. We're all relieved we won't have to see Lestrange.

Now that my biggest problem isn't giving me headaches anymore, I've had some time to return to the mystery of the top floor boy.

There has been no screaming anymore. He's been allowed to come downstairs! I saw him in the kitchen, though he wasn't cooking anything. He was sitting at the window, just staring at the wall of the apartment block opposite. I don't see what he can be seeing that would interest him.

But still, not one knows who he is. None of us talks to him. Because there are men around that we've never seen before, and it feels like they're keeping an eye on him, to make sure he doesn't make contact with us.

* * *

I've talked to him! I know his name now.

It's Harry. He told me. And I was right about his voice. He's in the middle of a voice break. I distinctly heard it when he told me his name.

I talked to him, because it appears he's on a hunger strike (he told another girl). He worries me a little, because he's so thin and small and weak. So I tried to convince him to eat something I'd made for myself, but he refused categorically. His green eyes behind his glasses had such an obstinate look, a thousand times worse than Bella when she's defending her favourite drug, that I didn't attempt any further persuasion.

But there's only so long one can keep on a hunger strike. And he didn't tell me why he's doing it. The strange men are still around, and one came into the kitchen at that point. I had to leave Harry behind.

* * *

It's Aoiika talking again now ;)

Oh God, I have to study for finals, but I couldn't keep myself from writing this piece. I hope it's worth the effort :)


	20. Chapter 17

**A/n: **I just had the time for this quickie. Enjoy ^^

* * *

**Chapter 17.**

**A Small Revelation**

The morning was icy, misty and dark, as every other January morning the raven had seen in his life. But this one seemed more threatening, the hazy yellow light from the street lamps more oppressing, as he walked to school at a healthy pace to keep his blood circulating.

If he'd still had that thin jacket in which he did no longer fit, he would've frozen to the spot, but he had finally gotten an overlarge (as all of Dudley's clothes) proper winter coat. It had only been used one winter, for Dudley had managed to grow two sizes by the next season, and it looked passably new, though not in fashion and of course, too large for the small child. But at least he could hide his hands in his sleeves and pull in his head, kind of like a turtle.

The big coat made him feel like he had a carapace, a safer place to hide from the gloomy atmosphere which reminded him more and more of a scene from his favourite book, where the wise magician Dumbledore had visited a black lake in a cave, utterly lightless and filled with living corpses. It had frozen his blood in place when he'd first read that passage.

Being in the same situation (in his imagination it was much the same), it was not so entertaining anymore. And the only thought that kept him going on bravely, was the remembrance of his night with Malfoy, which had most surprisingly turned out to be wonderful and fascinating, and his visit to Hedwig, who was growing by the day under Hagrid's expert care. She was absolutely ugly, Harry had to admit. Greyish plumage was shooting from under the white fluff, and her skin was still visible in places. But having seen pictures of snowy owls, Harry was waiting with anticipation for the day that she would be able to spread her majestic white wings and fly off into nature, into the sky, into the freedom he could not enjoy.

Harry's thoughts were turned to Hedwig all the time he walked to school, until the safety of the school gates and especially the arrival of his two friends made it no longer necessary for him to be brave. The reunion with the whole Weasley family was a hearty one. Both he and Hermione were embraced by Mrs. Weasley, and shook hands with Mr. Weasley who had driven everyone for the first school day of the New Year. The father of the family of course insisted on making chocolate coins appear magically from all kinds of places, and Harry was more than grateful for the food. The lack of a breakfast worthy of the name had made him more susceptible to cold and fatigue. Chocolate always made his insides feel warmer. Fred and George claimed it was an acknowledged medicine.

The day was mostly spent on filling each other in on their activities during the previous holidays. The Wealeys had visited some relatives, which all the younger members of the family had hated. Hermione and Harry told Ron about their few library sessions and the discovery of Hedwig. Ron was not sorry to have missed extra study time, but he did express regret at not having seen Hedwig, after which followed an immediate promise on Hermione and Harry's part to take him with them on their next visit to Hagrid.

It was already afternoon when Harry finally dared to venture on his other activity of the Christmas Holiday, his new 'acquaintance' with Draco Malfoy. Both his friends were more than surprised at his finding anything likeable in the blond upperclassman. So Harry did not give more of an explanation than his finding Mrs. Malfoy a very nice Lady, and having enjoyed staying at the manor house.

As for seeing Draco himself, there were not that many opportunities. It turned out that if meetings weren't looked for, their paths rarely crossed over the course of the day, and when they did, the atmosphere between everyone was indifferent and neutral. When not attacked, Hermione and Ron could scarcely find a reason to get in trouble, and all members of Draco's group of friends seemed to follow his lead and look the other way. It was as close as one could get to peace, a sort of unstated treaty.

It was in this way that a few quiet weeks were passed, during which the only things troubling Harry's mind were the continuing tension at home between his uncle and aunt, and his straining to keep up with Miss Snape's classes. His visits to Hagrid were frequent, and his friendship with the friendly giant grew. Hagrid showed him how he chopped up rats and bound the flesh to pieces of string. Harry was then allowed to try and play with Hedwig himself, making her hop after the bait, digging her growing claws into it, learning the tricks of hunting. It was important for her to develop the skills that otherwise a parent would have encouraged her to try out.

It often reminded Harry of his own situation, of how he had had to learn many things in a very short time by himself. He had learned to cook (though he still burnt the bacon constantly), to clean, to wash and iron his clothes, to make his bed, to steal food, to ask people in the street to find his own way... In other words, he'd had to learn to fend for himself in a few weeks time. He thought he'd done a rather good job. A few burns from the ironing, a few ruined clothes, many punishments for broken dishes and burnt food… That wasn't so bad. He was still alive, wasn't he? He was doing pretty well.

The raven tried to encourage himself with such thoughts. Seeing Hedwig always did him good. Leaving her though, was less pleasant. But he trudged on through the muddy snow, over the icy roads, or over the puddles. Through hail and rain, he fought his way.

* * *

February was well on its way when Harry came home after an expedition to Hagrid, finding only his uncle in front of the television, intently watching a football match (European football to be clear). It occurred to Harry that he better stay out of the way and immediately disappear off to his room, but something made him feel brave enough to risk coming in the line of sight of his uncle.

"Ah, you're here, you ruddy thing." Vernon Dursley mumbled through his moustache, only taking his eyes off the screen for a second.

"Where is everyone?" Harry asked tentatively, tensing his muscles, ready to jump away at any sign of danger.

"Your aunt has gone off to that witch of a friend of hers with Dudley. Women tend to flock together whenever anything doesn't go the way they wish."

"What does she wish?"

Uncle Vernon tore his eyes away from the screen again. The raven swallowed loudly, for his uncle did not look happy. Something had happened in his absence. The husband had finally confronted his wife about his suspicions?

"That does not concern _you_." The moustached walrus threatened, then turned back to the screen and mumbled to himself discontentedly. "She takes Dudley and leaves me with _this_ thing."

"What about food?" Harry asked. His secret storage of stolen food was depleted at the moment. He had been counting on some dinner.

"Take what you want. Stop bothering me." The raven did not need to be told twice. "And bring me a beer!" His uncle added loudly as the raven entered the kitchen.

Harry did as he was asked. It was a small price to pay for the liberty of taking however much food as he wished. He decided on a leftover of roast beef and baked potatoes. It was too late to heat anything up, so he simply took it with him and ate it cold in his bedroom, reading a compilation of poems by John Keats. It was another assignment from Snape. In fact he did not really like poetry. It sounded nice, a little like music, but he did not feel like he was really taken into the story so much as when he read a novel, a story of prose.

The book he kept open with a combination of his knees and feet, while his hands were needed to fill his mouth with potato and beef. Once finished he brushed his teeth and plunged under the covers. For once he would be able to keep the light on in his room and read as long as he wanted. Uncle Vernon did not seem in a mood to notice much of what Harry was doing.

* * *

The next morning, Harry woke up with his lights still on, his glasses askew and his nose pressed against the old paper of the book. He felt disoriented. But not only because the light was on when it shouldn't be. It was because of that same feeling again, the one he'd had before. It had happened regularly in the past weeks that he woke up feeling scared and slightly out of breath, but he never knew why. The more he tried to remember what he'd dreamt, the more it eluded him.

The raven put the book of poems away and cleaned his glasses before changing into a new set of Dudley's clothes. He wondered where the previous owner of those was at the moment. Where had aunt Petunia fled to? He'd never been allowed to meet any friends or neighbours. He had no idea where they could be. And frankly, he didn't care enough to think about it longer than the time it took to get changed.

The problem with the absence of half of the house's inhabitants was that he was now left alone with uncle Vernon, who was very known not to have any patience with the young boy. He tiptoed down to the kitchen, but found no one there. Was he still asleep then?

The raven tried in the living room. And there he was. A huge form, slumped over on the couch in front of the television, snoring slightly, moustache bristling. Harry came closer with small steps.

It was a work day, uncle Vernon was supposed to be getting ready, and Harry was supposed to be helping aunt Petunia making breakfast. Maybe Vernon Dursley wanted Harry to wake him up?

_No_. The raven thought. _Either way, he'll be angry with me. If I wake him he'll hit me, and if I don't wake him, he'll hit me when I come home for not doing so._ But there was a chance of Petunia and Dudley being home again by then, and Vernon being distracted. Harry decided the second choice was the best and good-humouredly skipped off to the kitchen, for he could take anything he wanted for breakfast.

He filled a bowl with two different cereals, and then ate a second bowl of the one he liked best. Then he proceeded to the cabinet where all of Dudley's biscuits and chocolate lay, and helped himself to one of each. He rejoiced at the idea of being able to share something with his friends this time, instead of always being on the receiving end.

* * *

"Wow! What's the occasion?" Ron wondered when Harry handed him his prize of chocolate and the most expensive brands of biscuits.

"Oh…just…since I always forget to get my own, and you always give me yours, this time I thought of you." Harry offered as an explanation. It was good enough for Ron, who shrugged and bit half off the bar of chocolate.

"Wooooooow, thishishdelishioush!"

"You're spitting chocolate all over us." Hermione remarked, shutting her book and cradling it to her chest to protect it from the indelible stains.

"There is a time for chocolate, Hermione, and there's a time for studying." He told her patronizingly. "You have disrespected the sanctivity of lunch, therefore you have forfeited the right to complain about chocolate stains."

Ron rewarded himself for his complicated speech with the second half of the chocolate bar.

"Sancitity." Hermione corrected.

Ron raised an eyebrow at her.

"Sactity, Ron!" She sighed in exasperation. "Not _sanctivity_."

It was more attention than could be expected of Weasley at lunch hour, with chocoloate in his mouth at that, and he simply shrugged it off and proceeded with throwing gravel at the tree behind them on the courtyard, trying to dislodge a crow.

Hermione was inclined to give him some credit for trying. "Well, since we're sharing today, you want some of my biscuits?" She offered them her opened lunch box.

Ron made a face as if they were vegetables. "Your biscuits taste like tree bark!" He accused. He'd been tricked into trying one before, and had spit it out into the shrubs surrounding the courtyard.

"It's much healthier. Besides it doesn't damage your teeth so much. We never eat anything else at home. I'm quite fond of them." She defended.

"I'm fine, thanks." He rolled his eyes at her and opened a bag of crisps.

Harry was still hungry though. He'd only taken the biscuits and chocolate. There had been no bread to prepare sandwiches. "I'll take one." He said. The last time he'd tried, it had tasted quite like bread, just a little denser, with raisins and nuts.

"See, _normal_ people eat them." Hermione sneered at Ron.

"Did I hear someone say _normal_?"

The three friends turned around at once. Gathered around the tree trunk where the crow had been, stood the upperclassmen that formed the little group around Malfoy. The shrill voice that had spoken belonged to Pansy Parkinson, the only girl among them. She held quite a dislike for Hermione for some reason no one understood, not even Hermione herself.

But that did not mean she let herself be beat down. With Ron and Harry standing next to her, she was less than intimidated.

"It's all right, Pansy. I hardly expect you to grasp such a difficult concept."

Pansy's laugh was forced and short. She stepped forward in front of the others. Malfoy wasn't among them, and it looked like she'd taken the lead.

"I think it's you who doesn't understand, Granger. You call yourself and those two normal? Don't we all know that the Weasleys live with nine in a tree house and have to share clothes, and that you spend your life in a library because only books can tolerate having you around," she smiled broadly when she turned her eyes on Harry, as if particularly anticipating her attack on him, "and that _his_ parents were the worst criminals in the country, and they were _butchered _as they deserved."

The tense silence between the flash of lightning and the rumbling thunder that follows. That silence, but stretched into infinity; knowing the thunder must come, but waiting eternally.

Ron had immediately turned to Harry with half a smile on his face, expecting to laugh at the ridiculous lie. Hermione had kept her eyes fixed on Parkinson. Whatever was the truth or not, her first priority, as she had learned from previous experiences in bullying, was not to show that she had been affected.

Though Harry had not had the same life-lessons, he adopted much the same method, but not because he consciously decided it, simply because he was frozen in place.

This had to be the dream he'd had every time and not remembered. This strange experience where someone who was supposed to be completely unaware of his situation had suddenly thrown it out into the world, this had to be why he'd felt unsettled every time he woke up.

Following that theory, he would have to wake up soon…now…no?

Nothing. He was wide awake, his wide open eyes were proof of that. This was truly happening.

_Butchered as they deserved, butchered as they deserved, butchered as they deserved…_ It repeated in the raven's head like badly composed electronic music. He felt the need to scream, cry, roar in rage and strangle Parkinson at the same time. But none of it showed, for all those scenarios were trapped within him. He wasn't able to move a muscle.

Having struck a satisfying blow, the winners began to talk among each other and move away, sneering and jeering. They were joined by Malfoy, who had come from the direction of the school building. Harry watched helplessly as Malfoy walked with his friends and they told him what had just happened.

It occurred then to the raven that the only person in this whole school who knew he did not live with his parents, was Malfoy. The Dursleys had told everything when Mrs. Malfoy and her son had come and drunk tea together. Draco _had _to have been the one who told Pansy and the rest.

This made Harry unbelievably angry, even more than he'd been at Pansy Parkinson, because he could expect it from her, but since he and Draco had spent such a good night together, he had trusted that Draco would not tell, even if he'd never actually asked not to do so. Harry felt betrayed.

He glared at the blonde from across the playground, and saw how Malfoy understood, then immediately turned to look at him. Nothing could be said between them, but it seemed as if Draco was confused, alarmed, and also, to Harry anyway, it seemed like there was an apology somewhere to be seen.

* * *

I think I won't be able to post again before two weeks, but who knows. If I deide to throw my books out the window, or burn them, the first thing I'll do is write the next chapter :D


	21. Chapter 18

**A/n: **Yes, I sinned! I pinched out a few hours of study time to write. I'm going to student-hell :s

* * *

**Chapter 18.**

**Famous Harry Potter**

"Harry?"

The raven thought Ron's voice sounded like Hermione's, high-pitched and squeaky. The only times he'd heard his redheaded friend sound like that was when they'd encountered spiders. It had made Harry laugh. He wasn't laughing now.

There was nothing in the world he felt like doing less than laughing. It was an inexistent thing at that moment. He didn't know what it was, and he felt like he would never do it again in his life.

"Harry?" Ron asked him again. The half-smile from before, when he hadn't been certain whether it was a joke or not, had vanished. It began to truly sink in to both Ron and Hermione. Harry had no parents. Worse even, they had been murdered.

The raven didn't turn away from Malfoy, Parkinson and the rest. He kept staring. He wanted to stop, but he couldn't. The anger had subsided, leaving only the shock behind. Moreover, he didn't want to face his two mates. How could he?

After being ignored for a whole few minutes Ron prepared to try again, but Hermione pulled at his sleeve and gave a slight shake of the head with pursed lips. Ron wasn't known for his subtlety, but he was bright enough to understand he should leave Harry alone.

Shortly afterwards the bell rang and the afternoon classes started. Hermione took notes with more dedication than usual, the tip of her nose actually touching the page, though no one could actually see it. Her hair formed an impenetrable curtain on both sides of her face.

Ron on the other hand was a marble-like white. It was so unusual for anyone to see him like this that their teacher asked him if he was sick. He weakly shook his head, but otherwise let nothing show. Not a word was said about what they'd heard, which Harry was grateful for.

The raven was also most grateful that there was no literature class that day. He could not imagine being alert enough to keep up with Snape, and being in the same classroom with _Malfoy_…

"Shall we go to Hagrid's?" Hermione proposed tentatively as they walked to the gate, also remembering Harry was free. They had not yet gone all together, as they'd promised.

"I'm in." Ron said in a wobbly tone.

Harry nodded with his eyes fixed ahead. There was a good chance that his aunt and cousin were still away from home, and that Vernon was angry and bitter and drinking beer in front of the television. There was no rush for him to get home. In fact, the more he put it off, the more likely Vernon would be peacefully snoring on the sofa when he did go back, leaving him completely free like the day before.

Ron informed his mother at the gate, who talked to Hermione's father to organise things. Mr. Granger would drive the three of them immediately to Hagrid's, and would pick them up again afterwards and bring them home, where Mrs. Weasley would pick up Ron and Harry. But when Mr. Granger heard that they would be on foot, he insisted on driving everyone back home himself. It would be dark and cold after all, and Mrs. Weasley couldn't resist for long. It was soon agreed upon.

The mood was very quiet and subdued during the drive. Once there, they found Hagrid's cosy little house unlocked, and the giant himself nowhere in sight. The Grangers knew Hagrid never locked his door (no one was crazy enough to steal from him and risk being caught), and didn't mind if they went in and waited inside for him to come back. Hagrid went to the forest everyday, where he had a hut and a few cages and cared for animals which he planned to release back into the wild soon. He thought they would adapt more quickly if they were kept close to their future habitat.

Mr. Granger left the three friends seated around the table near the hearth, with the instruction to lock the door behind him until Hagrid's return, to not touch anything and call him if the giant hadn't returned within half an hour. Hermione assured her father they would be good and safe.

For a long time, the only thing that was heard was the creak of the wooden beams in Hagrid's ceiling as the wind raged outside. The sky visible through the windows had darkened to a grey/blue shade and Hermione stood up to turn on the lights.

The sound of her stirring broke the lethargy among them.

"Harry." Hermione addressed him this time when she was seated again. "It's true, isn't it?" Her fingers were firmly locked around her knees.

"Yes." Harry swallowed.

This was the second time people had found out. Mrs. Malfoy and Draco, and now Hermione and Ron. And Parkinson knew too, and god knew who else. _Who else?_

Oh, what did it matter? The entire school would know, the whole neighbourhood. Parkinson would never keep such information to herself. But why? What had they done to her to deserve this?

It was silly. A kind of feud had started between Harry and Draco simply because Harry had yelled at Draco not to break the swings in the park, the first time they'd met. Such a little thing had started this enmity between two groups. And now it had brought forth consequences the raven had never anticipated.

In the corner of the house, Hedwig was agitated. She had jumped out of her little makeshift nest and was trying to hop to the table where they sat, but was kept back by the leather strap Hagrid kept her on for her safety when he left. Her beak nibbled at the leather around her leg and she flapped her wings impatiently, although still unable to fly.

Harry approached her carefully, remembering what Hagrid had said about her sharp beak being dangerous. Hermione also cautioned him, but didn't intervene. Hedwig let him untie the leather, and then hopped up on his arm and proceeded to his shoulder as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

"Oh!" Both Ron and Hermione exclaimed. "Doesn't that hurt?" The redhead wondered, seeing her still growing talons.

But though Harry felt the sharp tips of them digging through his large sweater, they didn't actually hurt him. He shook his head at Ron, and went back to sit in his seat. Hedwig then hopped onto his lap and nibbled his fingers. She was firm, but careful not to hurt him. Harry understood she was telling him she was hungry. After all the regular visits, the understanding between the two beings had strengthened considerably.

"She's beautiful." Hermione was short of breath.

"You think?" Ron said in the sarcastic tone that was much more like his usual self, but not quite. "She looks like a goblin in an owl-costume to me."

"I mean _internal_ beauty, Ron!"

"Internal? What do you mean?"

Hermione rolled her eyes and didn't bother answering. But Harry knew what she meant. As he watched Hedwig, he was aware Ron was right about her appearance, but he could not help feeling like his heart was smiling. It relieved him of some of his burdensome sadness.

"Harry," Hermione began cautiously again, "how long has it been?"

Of course, each of them knew what she was talking about.

"Last summer. Three weeks before school started." Hedwig's new feathers were the softest things Harry had ever touched. He concentrated on their feel, their colour, their smell…

Both his friends' eyes widened. They couldn't believe they had seen Harry so shortly after it had happened, and they hadn't noticed anything. It hadn't been long at all. Not even a year had passed.

"Where do you live then?" Ron asked.

"With my aunt and uncle, and my cousin." Calling them his family, he again wondered how his parents, whom he had and still admired more than anyone in the world, could be in any way related to these…these… Petunia was Lily's _sister_. How was that possible? He couldn't find anything alike in them. No matter how much he dared scrutinize the narrow-minded woman.

There was a long silence again. Harry wished he knew where Hedwig's rats were, or how to chop them up. He didn't like seeing her hungry, or in any kind of suffering. He kept stroking her newly formed feathers. He hadn't done it before, but she let him and even seemed to enjoy it. He thought he heard a sharp and hardly audible sound coming from her chest, much like the sounds she'd made when he'd spent the night with her in his arms, over a month earlier.

"Harry, I'm so, so…"

But before Hermione could finish what Harry didn't want to hear, a scratching sound came from the door and she had to go and unlock it. Fang, Hagrid's big black dog, came springing through the door and almost toppled her to the floor. Then he took an interest in Ron and drooled all over his trousers. He didn't dare approach Harry however. Hedwig's feathers stood upright in order to make her look bigger than she was. Harry concluded she hadn't made friends with Fang yet.

Hagrid beamed as he came in, shaking fresh-fallen snow from his humongous coat. "Hermione! Harry! An'…" He trailed off.

"Ron." Hermione offered immediately.

Ron introduced himself awkwardly. He was clearly as intimidated by Hagrid's size as Harry had been the first time. All three of them could easily fit into the giant's coat, with room to spare.

"Ah, nice ter meet yer, Ron! I've heard o' yer." Hagrid shook hands heartily with Ron, enclosing most of the redhead's forearm with his hand. Ron just nodded and smiled weakly.

"Are yer all righ'?" Hagrid inquired, feeling that the atmosphere was quite heavy. They all smiled and nodded with as much enthusiasm as they could conjure, and Hagrid proceeded to making tea. He did not seem the least bit surprised about Hedwig's presence on Harry's knees, but he did express his delight.

"She's goin' ter be a fierce hunter, I'm sure. I bin feedin' her bigger pieces. Soon she'll swallow 'em whole." He announced proudly as he poured out the steaming tea. Hedwig nibbled his fingers too as he filled Harry's cup. "Ah, yeah, yer hungry, aren' yer."

Within the next minute, Hedwig was wrestling with a dead rat on the floor, tearing chunks off it herself and swallowing them with ease. All of them watched, mesmerized by her. But then Hagrid became aware of the shivering of his guests and hurried to build a good fire.

* * *

By the next morning, the raven felt slightly better. Talking with Hagrid about Hedwig and his other protégées, and coming home to find the house completely empty had out him in a better mood. (They were running low on food though. He didn't really want aunt Petunia to come back, but someone had to go to the store.) Loaded with a bagful of sweets and crisps, he set out for another day.

He'd almost forgotten about Pansy Parkinson and Draco Malfoy, until he arrived at school.

All day long, heads turned in the hallways and on the playground. "Harry Potter's parents were murdered" "I heard they were criminals." "They were chased and killed by the police." "They were sentenced to death!" "It was a shooting." "It was a drug overdose." "Harry Potter's a junkie."

All kinds of stories were being whispered in every corner. The most impossible and far-sought things.

"I'm surprised I haven't heard anything with aliens yet." Ron commented during the afternoon break, and took it upon him to glare at everyone who spoke Harry's name.

"Don't listen to them, Harry. It's nonsense…isn't it?" She added uncertainly.

Harry wasn't sure what to answer. He didn't know anything himself. He didn't want to know either. Which was true, which wasn't? He shrugged and pretended not to care, concentrating on a sheet of maths homework instead.

It wasn't long before they were overwhelmed by Fred and George. One of them, Harry didn't know which, slung his arm around him in a brotherly gesture.

"Hullo, Harry! You got on Parkinson's bad side, I see." He sniggered lightly.

"She's the best at the rumour game." The other smiled broadly. "Well, except for us of course. We can beat her any time. Want us to make some work of it?"

"Yeah, any friend of _Ronnie_ is our friend too."

Harry smiled awkwardly and thanked them, but told them it wasn't necessary. Hermione was looking most disapprovingly at the twins, but they were oblivious.

"Are you sure?" The one who's arm was around Harry's shoulders said. It might've been Fred. "We've been sitting on an interesting fact about Parkinson for a while. We were waiting for the right moment, so as to maximise the impact momentum, but we're willing to use it prematurely."

"If we embellish it a little, I'm sure we'll hardly lose any effect."

The nodded knowingly at each other while Rom rolled his eyes and Hermione's hair seemed to stand as upright as Hedwig's plumage.

"Don't you have _any_ scrupules? You're lowering yourselves to _her_ level!" She squeaked.

Fred let go of Harry and stood straight and serious beside George, both wearing an expression of deep hurt and disappointment.

"Hermione! I'm shocked!"

"How dare you suppose that Parkinson's level is lower than ours!"

"I'm outraged! Our level is the lowest in the country." They boasted shamelessly.

At this Hermione bit her lip and walked away. It was too much for her. It tore a smile off Harry's lips though, and he even rediscovered enough appetite to eat one of his biscuits.

* * *

The twins had respected Harry's wishes. They had leaked nothing about Pansy Parkinson, for the next day Harry was still the centre of attention. He was called for a talk with his teacher; a mostly useless fifteen minutes where she wondered aimlessly about his well-being, but could not do much else. When at the end she proposed to call his aunt and uncle and invite them for a talk at school however, Harry quickly assured her he was doing very well and that such a measure would only attract more attention. The best way was to simply let everyone get bored, he argued, and not react in any way so as to quicken the process.

In Snape's class everyone was too scared to dare say anything about the ho topic 'Harry Potter', and Harry was able to sit through the lessons relatively undisturbed. He sat as far back as possible and avoided any form of contact with Draco.

He went to see Hedwig as much as he could and returned home quite late and frozen through by the wind and ice. Each time he found the house either empty, or with Vernon in front of the television. He was sent off to the store one day with money with the instruction to 'take care of breakfast and dinner'. And so Harry learned, for the first time, how to shop for food. He brought home bacon, eggs and bread, which he assumed would be good enough for breakfast, but was clueless about what to do for dinner.

In the end, he decided to ask an employee of the grocery store for help, a middle-aged man who regarded him suspiciously. He showed him the shelf with the ready-made meals. The raven was satisfied with that and took as much as he could buy with the money and carried all of it home with some effort.

Uncle Vernon wasn't all too happy with the dinner for that evening. (Especially since he had to put it in the oven himself. Harry had escaped to his room.) But Harry managed not to burn the bacon the next morning, and that made up for it. Almost.

It was a Friday at the beginning of March, and Harry had started worrying about the emptiness of the fridge, when he came home from the literature class and found, not a grumpy Vernon watching the telly, but a grumpy Dudley. There was no difference in their proportions, but there was in their size and hair coverage. Harry immediately saw that the head sticking above the sofa was not bald.

He stood still in the hallway and strained his ears. There were voices coming from the kitchen.

Aunt Petunia was home.

* * *

Uum, would it be unreasonable of me to ask for many many reviews?


	22. Chapter 19

**A/n:** I'm free, you guys! I had my last exam this morning, finally! I can concentrate more on the story. I'll see if I can maybe make the chapters longer, I'll try ^^

* * *

**Chapter 19.**

**What Friends Are For**

He stood still in the hallway and strained his ears. There were voices coming from the kitchen.

Aunt Petunia was home.

The raven hesitated. If aunt Petunia hadn't been there, he would've gone to the kitchen to snatch away some food before uncle Vernon could ask him to prepare his oven-dinner. But that was no longer possible.

Furthermore, he wasn't sure what he was supposed to do instead. Usually, it was better for him not to be seen. The Dursleys had the inclination to forget him if he didn't appear in front of them, and so both he and they were in peace.

The raven couldn't explain it to himself. It was inexcusable even. What was possessing him? But his feet brought him into the living room, where Dudley sat, watching what looked like an anime-series. Harry could tell by the abundance of pointy blue and pink hair. It was the same kind of art he'd glimpsed from his cousin's many console games.

He was actually curious about it. He'd never been allowed to watch or play with Dudley, not if the latter didn't wish it (so always), but today was different. The atmosphere that reigned in the house was out of the ordinary. It was probably because of the voices of his aunt and uncle that were getting louder and louder, so different from the undisturbed and perfect routine Petunia held up.

"What are you doing?" Dudley asked as Harry sat down as far from him as possible.

"Watching." The raven replied flatly, fixing the screen. But he could see Dudley squirm in his seat from the corner of his eye.

It took a few minutes for the larger, older cousin to speak up about what was troubling him. "Mum and Dad are fighting."

The younger boy now turned his attention to Dudley. But as no question had been asked of him, it didn't occur to him to respond. He glanced back at the door that connected the living room with the kitchen. He couldn't make out what was being said behind it though.

"Mum has been crying a lot when we were at Sicilia's." Harry assumed Sicilia to be the friend they'd stayed with. "Why does she cry?"

Harry stared at Dudley. For once, he couldn't accuse his cousin of stupidity. Dudley was the most dense creature he'd ever met with in his life (and the way his parents treated him really didn't help his case), but in this instance, he just lacked the experience and the clues to understand any of what was happening. Harry himself wasn't entirely sure, but from uncle Vernon's questions and aunt Petunia's behaviour, he'd been able to form a vague picture.

The seven-year-old boy had no clue about how love and relationships worked, or how life and marriage often turn out differently for adults than what they'd imagined at the start of it. However, he had been a witness to the relatively happy life his parents had led together, and added to that were the passages and glimpses he'd had from 'adult' books, that talked of passion and betrayal, of love and hate. These elements were what formed the unknown concept of 'love' in his mind.

The Dursleys didn't fit the image at all. The raven had therefore inferred that 'love' as he knew it was not a part of the relationship. What it was, he had not cared to find out. He cared not enough for the people who rejected him so harshly, judged his losses so casually. He was still wondering why in the world he'd come to sit with Dudley, when he could have been in his room doing _anything_; even acrossword puzzle would still have been infinitely more interesting.

"What's going to happen?" Dudley asked Harry, who was preparing to shrug in response; but then the door flew open from the kitchen. In marched Petunia, her face red and in tears, followed by Vernon, also red, though rather from anger and embarrassment.

"Don't you dare go back to that witch!" He threatened, waving his finger.

His wife pursed her lips in an attempt to stop her tears. Dudley and Harry completely forgot the television, or their conversation. Their eyes were fixed on the scene playing behind them. Aunt Petunia seemed keenly aware of it, and regretted having come into the living room. She glanced anxiously at Dudley, and then her eyes fell on Harry.

Harry tangled and untangled his fingers. This was one of those situations where he keenly felt he had no place here. This was not his family, this was not his home, and this was not his tragedy. On the bright side, it meant he was very little upset by what was going on. The 'less bright' side was that he _did_ feel the tiniest amount of sympathy for his relatives. The boy himself wasn't aware of it, his mind was invaded with thoughts of hate and resentment, but the underlying pity was what had brought him into this room, at this moment.

The raven had not so long ago known suffering (still did of course). He could no longer actively remember it, but his heart was still broken. It would never be the way it was before. Now he had been witness to a sad and pathetic Vernon, unable to feed or entertain himself, a Petunia distressed and in tears, and a Dudley so lost he had actually been inclined to use his brain for once. How could Harry not be affected?

Knowing how suffering felt, how could he be indifferent when he recognized signs of it in others, regardless of how he felt about those people? It was nothing other than humanity speaking through his heart. The humanity that (somewhat paradoxically) had been so praised by Harry's favourite fictional character (and assumed mentor): the great wizard Albus Dumbledore.

"Don't push me, Vernon!" Petunia threatened back, but her voice sounded much weaker than his. She looked very pale and her hands were in search of something she could lean against.

"How could you, Petunia? What will the neighbours say?" Harry's uncle seemed to be doing a great effort to keep his anger in check. The veins under the bald skin of his head were evidence of that. Harry cringed as he saw them.

"I don't know!" She screamed, then flattened her hand against her mouth, as if shocked by her own loud outburst. "I…I…" She whispered, seeming hopelessly lost. "These last few months have been too hard."

"Why? I've had my promotion." Vernon answered, as if this simple fact ruled out any possible unhappiness.

"Yes…" Petunia agreed weakly. She'd found a little decorative table to lean against.

"And Dudley has been accepted to Smeltings."

"Yes, of course, it's not your fault Dudleykins." She hastily added, addressing a ghostly smile to her son. "And it's not you, Vernon…" Aunt Petunia continued. Then her eyes found Harry again, who had pulled his knees up to his chest and made himself as small as possible.

Something passed between the dull-brown, and bright-green orbs. Petunia's expression seemed to light up for a split second as she recognized that gaze, recognized for the first time the sister she'd grown up with. But then she remembered the resentment, the jealousy that had sprung from that relationship. How Lily had always done so much better than she had, how _she_ had been actually _happy_ with her husband whom she loved very dearly.

Patunia Dursley had a moment of weakness. At a time of despair, of hurt and of need to find her familiar old ways back, the clean-obsessed woman yielded. Harry saw it in her gaze, the moment she made her decision.

"It's _his _fault." She nodded towards her nephew. More sobs escaped her throat. "We took him in because of that social worker, but the neighbours have been wondering ever since, and he has such a bad reputation, and he's not _normal, _I don't know what to do anymore…"

That was the spark that was needed, the one element that could unite the broken family again. They just needed a common goal, in this case: a common enemy. Harry was just too perfect a scapegoat. At the wrong place at the wrong time, as they say.

It didn't stop him from feeling, once more, betrayed. All sympathy, whether conscious or unconscious, flew out the window. Anger made his pitch-black feathers stand up and his face contort in a grimace of shock and rage.

Uncle Vernon jumped on the opportunity. It was just so very easy. He didn't even really care about the boy. It was _more_ than easy. He turned redder than red, and the veins in his head looked like they would explode any moment. His loud and heavy steps would have made Harry cringe if he'd not been in an extreme state himself.

"Whatever made us agree to take such an awful little monster in our midst!" He rumbled loudly as he picked up the child he spoke of by the collar and dragged him off the couch, out of the room, all the way up the stairs and into his bedroom, where he flung him to the floor without ceremony and slammed the door so hard that the knob on the inside fell off.

It made a loud metallic noise as it hit the carpet and rolled between Harry's feet. But the child took no notice. He was in a blind rage and scrambled up, unable to feel any pain. He began banging on the door with his fists and screamed "LIAR!" at the top of his lungs. "Liar! I didn't do anything! You FILTHY LIARS!"

It was impossible for anyone to ignore such hellish noise, and quickly, Vernon had stepped back into the room, holding the tiny boy at arm's length.

"Stop this or you'll gather the whole neighbourhood!" He boomed just as loudly, but then lowered his voice to a threatening hiss. "Listen well, my boy. You will not breathe a word of any of this to anyone, or you will wish I had only deprived you of food. Understood?"

Harry didn't answer, he hadn't even listened. He just kept struggling to get closer to uncle Vernon, to inflict any kind of pain within his reach.

"UNDERSTOOD?" Vernon roared, and threw Harry once more far into the room before locking the door behind him. The boy landed with his side against his wobbly desk, which toppled over and struck the top of his head.

Though not that hard, the pain of the blow was just sharp enough to stun Harry out of his blind rage. He lay still for a moment, panting heavily. There, on his bedroom floor, he felt he'd reached a new low.

It took him quite long to get the anger out of his system, to gather his wits about him, though the deep hate settled even deeper than before. Once he'd calmed down, he became aware of the pain in his side, his head and his hands. He'd struck his door with his fists so hard that they'd started to bleed. The skin had been chafed, torn off in places where he'd struck the wood. Splinters were lodged between the cracks. It was a bloody mess. What was worse, he could not do anything about it. He could not get out of his room. Vernon had locked it of course.

Harry stood his desk upright again, and started looking in his closet for anything useful. Sheets were too large, for he had nothing to cut it, and was not in any shape (and had not nearly enough strength) to rip a piece off it. So he settled for two pillowcases, and wrapped each hand in one, holding it in place by clenching his fists. He looked a little like a boxer with white boxing gloves.

He lifted his shirt to look at his side. It would leave a significant and large bruise. And is head felt sore. But the worst were his hands. It was hidden now, but he'd seen the bits of skin hanging loose, and the splinters. He'd always hated splinters, and the image of skin and blood, his _own_ skin and blood made him shiver.

* * *

Narcissa Malfoy. An independent woman, a hard-working woman, a responsible mother, a perfect host, and a publisher and journalist. She loved her work and was aware of how lucky she was to have been able to wipe away her past, of how she could never have gotten this job if things had been different.

But before all that, the main reason she'd decided on this career were the flexible hours, and the possibility of working at home. She wrote most of her articles in her study and sent them in by mail. This she did in order to care for Draco. She brought her son to school, picked him up, helped with homework, made dinner… Rare were the times that she still needed to call in the help of Severa' only when there was an absolute emergency at work.

Narcissa spent as much time with her son during the day as she could, and often worked late hours into the night, after Draco had gone to sleep. This meant that she was always aware of what was happening in the blond head's life.

Lately, she found that Draco had seemed upset. And not in the usual, grumpy, childish way. There seemed to be something serious bothering him. She had never seen him so quiet and thoughtful.

"Draco, do you want some pudding?" She asked as she came into the living room, where he sat on the floor doing his homework. It was after dinner, so he was allowed something sweet.

Draco kept staring at a sheet of paper lying in front of him, as if there was a problem there that he could not solve. But when his mother looked over his shoulder, she saw that all the problems had already been solved. Moreover, they looked perfectly correct to her.

Narcissa sat down next to him and stroked his back tenderly. "Draco? Is there something wrong, dear?"

Draco looked back at her, as if only just realising she was there. "What?"

"Is there something you want to talk about?" She tried again.

Grey-eyes looked back at his paper. He came to the same conclusion as she had: there was nothing left to be done. So he looked back at her, understanding she was not talking about maths.

"Mum?"

"Hmmm?"

"At school…everyone is talking, saying things…about Harry."

About the object of his worries, Narcissa was not surprised. "What are they saying?"

"Things about his parents…how they died and such."

"Did you tell them?"

"No!" Draco protested vehemently. "No! But… I think Harry thinks I did."

"Did you talk to him?"

"No…" Draco felt embarrassed. His mother sounded somewhat berating.

"Then you cannot assume whether he's thinking such things." She lectured. Then she thought about the little black-haired boy, and frowned in worry. "How did the others know?"

"Pansy says her mother heard it from the neighbours. But now everyone is saying many different things… How can I know if it's true?" He looked up questioningly at his mother, his role model.

"We can only know for certain what Harry told us himself." Narcissa affirmed. Draco nodded. That made sense. It also relieved him. Some things had been truly horrible. "People are often carried away." Narcissa explained as she combed her son's pale hair with her fingers. "Rumours are amplified and deformed every time they're passed on. You will see that adults are no better judges of the truth than your schoolmates." She added with a sigh. The truth was only rarely pursued in Journalism these days.

Draco was deep in thought again, seemingly oblivious to his mother's presence.

"Draco," she tried to gain his attention back, "you should talk to Harry."

"Why?" He asked, bewildered.

"Well, isn't he your friend?" He nodded with some hesitation. She knew it to be true though. Otherwise he would have made a grimace in disgust, just like his father used to do. "Don't you think it's hard for him, having these things said about his parents, who can no longer defend themselves against these rumours? Friends help each other during such times."

Draco thought about this. _Harry's in trouble?_ He remembered how the younger boy had looked on the playground that day: pale, mouth slightly hanging open, eyes wide at first, then narrowed and burning holes into him. Draco hadn't known what to do. He was with his friends of course, he was on their side. They were loyal to him, and he, as the 'leader' was supposed to be on their side. But that day, it hadn't felt good. Pansy had scored a victory, and everyone had been excited, but it had not felt nearly as good as it used to for the blonde.

* * *

Hi, everyone! It's been a while.

I've been wondering actually, since we're all part of the Harry Potter 'fandom' (whether you like it or not, are proud of it or not), how you guys stumbled into the books?

I saw the first movie when I was 6 years old, and then my parents started reading the books to me. My father read it to me in French, since I couldn't speak English back then.

I remember we read all four books before the second movie came out, and then I had to wait for the fifth book to come out. When it did, I had no patience and just started reading on my own, which is actually why I started reading books (thank you again JK Rowling) in the first place.

For the sixth and the seventh volume, I waited before reading. I was scared, because I'd heard of everyone who died, and I didn't want to read that. I couldn't wait forever of course, and I cried my heart out at every damned death :p

I've never bonded as much with characters as in Harry Potter. I just grew up with it, it shaped a part of me, made me who I am today.

I'm really, really curious. If you don't want to leave a review, you can send me a PM, please just tell me. :)


	23. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20.**

**Flight to Freedom**

That night, the raven had trouble finding sleep. He'd gone without dinner of course; the Dursleys couldn't be expected to allow him out of his room after such an outburst. Moreover, his bruised side was uncomfortable to lie on; and whenever he started falling asleep, his fists loosened, and the pillowcases around his hands unwound themselves, which made him more aware of the pain and the loose skin and splinters.

There had not been many peaceful nights, where the raven could sleep undisturbed, since he'd come to the Dursleys. The child simply did not feel safe, not at home, not treasured. But he had slowly gotten used to it, had accepted it as his new way of life. What alternative was there?

Harry sat up on his bed. He was cold, but he could not pull up his covers for he was too clumsy with the two pillowcases wrapped around his palms, and his fingers continually in a fist. He had been unable to change into his pyjamas. It reminded him of the time when he'd dislocated his shoulder two months earlier, although back then, he'd been more disabled, and in much more pain.

Harry stared at the floorboard under which the pictures of his parents, and his favourite book lay. Or rather, he stared at a blurry patch of darkness, for if he'd been able to take _off_ his glasses, putting them _on_ again was impossible. It was for the same reason that he could only look at the floorboard. With the two 'boxing gloves' around his hands, he could not even begin to imagine how to pry open the floorboard and handle the thin pictures.

No, Harry could do nothing but wait, and ignore any pain and discomfort. Luckily it was the weekend, and he could go back to sleep after making breakfast with aunt Petunia the next morning. (If that was even possible.) With some luck, she would leave him locked up in his room and he could sleep until noon; provided that he could fall asleep by then.

A soft tap on the window made Harry's heart leap. For a second, he thought of the corpses of the black subterranean lake in the book. His chest moved at the heightened rhythm of his breathing and rotting pale faces flashed before him in the shadows.

Another few taps, neither louder nor softer than the previous time. It was clearly coming from the glass pane, behind the curtain…

The raven gathered his courage. Living corpses didn't exist. _You're filling his head with imaginary creatures, James!_ He heard a pale echo of his mother's voice say. _Harry is bright enough to know the difference between reality and fiction._ His father's voice brushed his mother's off easily. Both sounded so distant and lifeless, here and now, in his little bleak room, number 4 Privet Drive.

But the memory encouraged him. Harry could not let his father down; he would not be a coward. He had braved Pansy Parkinson, Draco Malfoy, Vernon Dursley and even Miss Snape. He could not be afraid of an imaginary corpse.

Still, his legs were slightly shaking as he stepped out of his bed and to the window. The curtain seemed to flutter for a moment. He reached up with one of his wrapped hands, his heart in a frenzy, and peeked behind the curtain.

The raven couldn't repress a gasp of surprise and pleasure. But he was equally puzzled. _Hedwig! How have you gotten here?_ He thought towards the snowy owl sitting on the window ledge as he struggled to get his window open with the pillowcases in the way. Hedwig had still been flapping around, only half-flying when he'd last seen her, even though she had all her new feathers. Hagrid had promised he would wait for Harry to be there before setting her free.

Only for a moment, the raven considered it being a different owl, and he was mistaking the blurry image (he was still without glasses) for the owl he'd watched growing up for the past month and a half. But he quickly dismissed the suspicion when he got the window open and the bird hopped through and onto his shoulder without hesitation.

"Oh, Hedwig…" Harry whispered dejectedly as he stroked her smooth plumage with the protruding tips of his fingers, "I can't keep you in here." He had neither food nor water, or a nest or cage, or even newspaper. He'd already ruined two pillowcases; Petunia would lose it if he stained her sheets with owl droppings.

Besides, one of the Dursleys was bound to come into his room sooner or later. What would they do to her? He could never stop them…

It was the same dilemma as when he'd first picked her up in the front yard outside. And the solution was exactly the same: she had to go back to Hagrid's. But he could not bring her this time. If she'd come all the way here, it meant she was both able to fly and to find her way. Could she return to the giant's shabby house by herself?

The raven brought her back to the window and tried to make her hop off his shoulder. He talked to her under his breath, explaining what he needed her to do, and promising he'd come and see _her_, not the other way around. But it had started to rain lightly outside, and the snowy owl would not deign to move a muscle. She stubbornly held onto his shoulder and looked at his with her high and mighty expression. She had lost all of her ugliness, and nothing but pure majesty remained.

The boy sighed. What could he do? He was lonely after all. And he could not leave the window open for too long, the air in his room was too cold already.

The boy-who-lived conceded, and the black raven and the specked snowy owl spent the night in each other's company, until both of them nodded off when dawn arrived.

A few hours later, both of them were brutally pulled from their slumber when another loud tap, from the door this time, announced it was morning. Harry quickly calmed Hedwig down before she could make too much noise to be noticed.

Aunt Petunia's sharp voice came through the door: "Kitchen in ten minutes."

It left just enough time for a grumbling Harry to urge Hedwig out through the window. His heart was pinched when he thought he recognized a look of hurt and resentment in her impressive eyes. But she opened her great wings and soared through the sky anyway, leaving Harry behind in the tiny world of number 4 Privet Drive.

Having his clothes from the previous day still on, he went straight to the bathroom (in case he got locked up again before he got the chance, he didn't trust himself not to burst out in anger) and then to the kitchen. There, he found only aunt Petunia sitting at the kitchen table, with what looked like a first –aid kit in front of her.

It was still early, and the world was entirely quiet. There was an awkard atmosphere around, like an armistice between eternal enemies. She nodded towards the chair in front of her and Harry sat down.

"Give me your hands." She said. Her face was expressionless, her voice was expressionless, but her eyes looked a little red and swollen. She looked like she'd had just as peaceful a night as her nephew.

Harry placed his two big and white-gloved hands on the table. She pursed her lips when she saw what he'd used to bandage himself, but did not utter a sound. Instead she unwrapped them slowly but firmly and began inspecting the damage.

The raven wondered how she'd known he was hurt. She had not been there. Had Vernon told her? And why did she bother helping him _now_? After ignoring him all this time, betraying him the day before…

"Stop squirming!" She snapped about halfway through the work. The disinfectant she was using stung horribly, and just seeing his skin and the splinters made the raven shiver and want to run away. But aunt Petunia worked quickly and expertly. She seemed to know what she was doing.

"Finished." She said as she fastened the bandage on his left hand and started cleaning up the table. "You can go to your room now. I will call when breakfast is ready."

"Uh…" Harry mumbled as he got up, not knowing why she seemed unusually kind (in comparison to before, she was indeed kind), if it would last, or what it meant. Did she feel guilty for what she had done? Did she recognize it as wrong? Or should he prepare for an even worse betrayal? Was she simply afraid to be judged by others in her behaviour?

"Thank you…that was…uh…quick." The raven could not find anything else to say. This single act of kindness did far from erase the deep hatred in his heart. It only pushed it to the background for now.

"I was a nurse before I married." Was aunt Petunia's cold and short answer. Then she turned her back to him and started to prepare an elaborate breakfast. There was nothing left for Harry to do than to go back upstairs and lay down, trying to get some rest. He was looking forward to the morning meal though. His stomach was doing to his insides what he had done to his bedroom door the day before.

At the dining table, an hour later, everything seemed practically back to normal. The same words were exchanged, the same expressions used. Dudley was fully himself again, eating anything within range. But aunt Petunia had made so much this time that even Dudley couldn't deprive Harry of as much food as his stomach could hold.

The raven wondered in silence whether Petunia had seen that all the sweets and crisps were missing from Dudley's cupboard. If she had, she had mentioned nothing about it. She had brought her own groceries with her when coming home, apparently.

The more important question Harry was asking himself, was whether all had been forgotten between his aunt and uncle. What exactly had happened, he still, and would probably never know. But appearances indicated that this family was perfectly normal, and _that_ was all that mattered to the Dursleys.

There were minute differences however, in the way each family member treated the black sheep of the herd. Aunt Petunia kept on showing a more tolerant side, as she had done that morning. Dudley, had seemingly come to the conclusion that his younger cousin was actually the same species as he was, a human instead of an animal or lifeless toy to mess with. How _that_ change had come about, was unclear.

And uncle Vernon…well, unfortunately the change here was rather negative than positive. All _his _annoyance and anger was turned to the boy. Worse even, it was supported by the two other Dursleys, even if they in themselves were slightly kinder to him.

Harry had effectively become the glue that was holding the pieces together. He was the outsider, which in contrast, united the others as _insiders_.

The boy felt all the unfairness of the situation, and for a while, had trouble suppressing the rising indignation. But he learned from his mistakes, and getting angry would only unite them even more against him. It would give Petunia an excuse not to be tolerant anymore (if it was in fact guilt that made her this way.)

It was becoming a complicated and twisted affair. The dynamics within a family of such opposing personalities and histories was, to say the least, difficult. Harry really didn't want to spend too much time in their presence, and swallowed everything he could as quickly as he could, so as to escape to the only place he liked in the house.

Later that day, Harry heard the doorbell ring from his bedroom. He listened attentively, for it was a welcome distraction from a monotonous afternoon. There were low, unrecognizable murmurs, footsteps to what sounded like the living room, and then Petunia's voice calling his name from the hallway.

Curiosity invaded his mind, and he stood up, but he was not so eager to go down the stairs. There was really only one family who knew where to find him. And since recent events, he was not so keen on meeting them. Well, it was actually just Draco he didn't want to see. Mrs. Malfoy was still a firm but merciful mother-figure to him, despite what her son might do.

Harry was not lucky today. In the living room he found the older and arrogant face of Draco Malfoy, but the pale and elegant one of Mrs. Malfoy was nowhere in sight. There was no chance of her being in the kitchen with aunt Petunia. Her manners would have kept her right in this room, keeping an eye on her son.

Draco looked very uncomfortable, and this made him look disdainful. Harry wondered if he'd looked like that to aunt Petunia. He recalled the murmurs, but couldn't decipher any rudeness or indignation from either side. It had not even been clear who was visiting.

It was just the two of them now, and the raven felt even more just how little he could call this place 'home'. If it _had_ been, he could have claimed it as his territory, he would have felt confident faced with his enemy-then-friend-turned-enemy-again. Or was Draco more of a rival?

Harry was thus just as uncomfortable in this living room as he was in the Malfoy's living room. The sole advantage here seemed to be that Draco was _also_ uncomfortable here. At least it evened out the odds. But the most important thing Harry gained at that moment, was a sense (it was not actually put into words) that his confidence could not flow from his surroundings, from his friends or family. If he wanted to be brave, he had to stand on his own, and trust only his own, so that he would be as strong on his feet in any place on earth, be it his or someone else's.

The raven lifted his chin, mirroring the show of pride Draco usually put on, which unsettled the latter; seeing a shadow of himself, without realising he recognized it. But he did recognize it somewhere within himself, and his liking for the raven-black-haired boy grew.

"Look, I don't know what happened exactly, but I had nothing to do with it." Draco said first, not daring to raise his voice to more than a whisper.

"Then how did Parkinson know?" Harry demanded in the same tone.

"I'm not sure." Harry raised a sceptic eyebrow. "She said it was the neighbours, all right!" Draco went on immediately. "I…I think everyone's talking about it."

The raven cocked his head to the side. There was that look again in the grey eyes. He'd seen it last from across the playground; a mix of pity…worry…and apology. Three things Harry never expected to see in the blonde. _Is he aware of it?_ He wondered.

"My mum made me come." Draco admitted after a while, lowering his head as if he were ashamed of this fact. "She watched from the corner of the street to make sure I came in. I expect she's still there."

"Why?" Harry could not imagine why she'd go to such lengths.

But Draco would not answer. Instead he pouted slightly, and repeated "I didn't tell."

The raven was still standing, and glanced at the door. He'd actually thought it over in his room, and come to the conclusion that the information was more likely to have leaked through the Durlseys. They had made clear their opinions of the affair, and did not hesitate to let loose their critique upon Harry's parents. They used it as a defence, to make sure that no one blamed _them_ for the improper behaviour and appearance of their nephew.

Apparently, rumours spread quickly, without any distinction between true and false ones. It was another lesson learned for the seven-year old.

The ten-year old on the other hand was getting annoyed at feeling awkward and powerless in someone else's home, and being seated while his 'inferior' was standing. He sprang to his feet, his head once more where it ought to be: towering above Harry's. It was only then that his eyes caught sight of the state of Harry's hands.

"What's this?" He asked, more curious than worried. Wounds were something to be proud of for a boy that age.

"Nothing." Harry shrugged, not willing to answer the question, and not willing to answer Draco in particular. He found he was still angry with the blond-head. The latter was Parkinson's friend after all, he was an enemy by association if nothing else.

At that moment, Petunia passed through the living room, coming to fetch some thing or other, and threw a stiff glance at the two boys as if to say "Are you still here?" She had not so much courtesy towards the boy as towards the mother.

Draco looked back at Harry, and saw unhappiness. He himself only wanted to get out of there, and so, once Petunia was out of the room again, he took the youngest one by the wrist. "Do you want to sneak out?" And nodded to the door, a smile playing around his lips.

Green-eyes knew that the Dursleys didn't much care whether he left or stayed, but he did not have the heart to tell his companion. There was this light in Draco's eyes, a spark of excitement at the idea of running away, that was infectious, and suddenly he just wanted to pretend that he was flying away, just like Hedwig had done a few hours before.

Harry left everything behind, and followed Draco out through the hallway, as they quietly opened, and then closed the front door behind them.

* * *

Hello again, everyone!

I was blown away by the reviews and messages I got in response to the question (or more like general wondering really). I got to know many different sides. And I actually felt bad for having written so little in comparison to what you wrote, because I thought I would bore you guys with my personal blah blah :)

Anyway, it does occur to me that everyone started reading Harry Potter while they were still young. Is it that only children can see how wonderful this is? Has anyone who came in touch with HP as an adult become as much of a fan as we did? Do you know anyone? Because I don't.

And yes, they _are_ children's books, technically, and about the first few, I agree. But the last few books are much more than that! I think six and seven are much more mature than a load of adult books I have read!

Other than that, it looks like most of you read it in English from the start, except for a few from Germany, I believe. I wondered also, if anyone has read other translations, and if they were any good?

Because I read it in French first, and I think it was quite decent. They respected most of the names, though far from all, sadly. But once I glanced into a dutch copy, and it was absolutely _horrible_! I choked when I read how they translated some names. _Sacrilege!_ My internal fanatic screamed out in outrage :p

For now I can only read those three languages, so I have no idea how other translations are, but I've sworn to myself I would try the Japanese version as soon as my reading level is good enough. I'm really curious for the Japanese Hari Poteru (or something like it...)

See you soon! Leave me some news :D


	24. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21.**

**Anna Karenina**

Two small and frail figures crouched in the front yard, which was flooded in grey, early spring light. It felt like it would rain again soon, and wind was making itself known. The kitchen and dining room were both at the back of the house, but in case someone came into the living room again, which was in front, they had to stay low. It was also much more fun and exciting that way.

A blond and a black head moved swiftly between the low shrubs of Petunia's garden. The earliest flowers of the season were starting to bloom. But the weather was still wet and cold, and Harry had not taken anything with him. No coat, no toothbrush, only his shoes and the clothes on his back.

The two children had soon exited onto the street and ran quickly out of sight of the house's windows, preparing to sigh in relief at their victory, when…

"Draco Malfoy! Would you please tell me what it is you are doing?"

They stopped short, Harry bumped into Draco in front of him, his glasses almost falling from his nose. When he realised who had spoken, and who was coming to them from across the street, he felt his cheeks inflame, and his eyes dropped self-consciously to the ground.

"Well, I talked to him, didn't I?" Draco defended himself nonchalantly. "It wasn't fun there, so we got out."

Mrs. Malfoy had now reached them and threw nervous glances at number 4 Privet Drive. "Did you ask permission?" She demanded.

Draco started pouting slightly, but then retracted his lip and lifted his chin, offering a proud and rightful look. "No."

Mrs. Malfoy lowered her head for a moment to sigh, then rubbed her eyes in one of the most non-elegant gestures Harry had ever seen her make. "You always have to ask permission, Draco." She lectured. "Otherwise they won't know where Harry is and they'll be worried. And they might have made other plans, you know. You have to respect people's schedules. And lastly, it is very rude not to ask permission in someone else's home!"

Mrs. Malfoy stood up straight and turned to walk back towards the Dursley's house, but before she had made a step forward, she turned back again, her eyes lowering to Harry's gauze-covered hands. She had not yet noticed them before, and the sight of it unsettled her, stopping her in her tracks.

"Are you hurt, Harry?" She asked very sweetly.

The raven looked at his own hands, somehow ashamed, though he knew not for what. "It's my fault." He explained, remembering Petunia's order to make sure he said it wasn't their fault. "I…uhm… hit a door."

The raven felt even more embarrassed. There was something strange to hitting a door, he now realised. People didn't usually do that, it seemed. Why had he even done it? Was he in fact abnormal, like the Dursleys had always claimed? Were they right after all? This doubt hit him as unexpectedly as a snow storm in June. But being confronted with the somewhat awe-inspiring Malfoys had the effect of making him think more about his own appearance and behaviour.

"Why didn't you hit your cousin instead?" Draco asked as if it was the most simple thing in the world.

"Draco!" His mother immediately chastised.

"I'm just saying!" He shrugged. "A door doesn't fight back, so it's kind of boring."

Narcissa was hopelessly discouraged. It felt to her as if she had not been able to teach her son any manners and morals at all. Sneaking out, inciting others to fight… She hoped very much that not too many people had heard him say things like this. Of course it was too late for the teachers. The school had had to deal with a lot from Draco. It was only since Severa was teaching there that things had somewhat calmed down. The bright side was that Draco was in his last year of elementary school. The next year would mean a new start for him, and hopefully, a better one.

"Don't listen to him, Harry." She hastily corrected as she crouched in front of the boy and took a closer look at his hands. She didn't like this. It was the second time she saw him with a serious injury. Whether there were more she didn't know of, or whether Harry spoke the truth or not about the cause, she did not know. But it seemed strange to her that such a calm, shy and polite boy would get so worked up that he would injure himself like this. It worried her, if nothing else.

It made her change her mind, and she hesitated to bring Harry back now. Would he be safe? Had her own son been safe in that house alone? She decided she would not let that happen anymore, just in case. So she took everyone to her home again, and sent them upstairs with some sandwiches and sweets, for she had something serious to consider.

For an hour, Narcissa walked around the coffee table in her living room, her wireless house-phone in hand. She had work lying on her desk, but it would have to wait. At some point she sat down at the edge of the sofa and dialled a number she knew well.

"Severa?" She began immediately after the person on the other side picked up. She explained her problem.

Narcissa wanted to do what was right, she wanted to help a possibly troubled boy. But it was just that: a possibility. She was nowhere certain of it, and she didn't want to upset the harmony and good relations with her neighbours. If these things got out of hand, it could put up entire neighbourhoods against each other. And if she gathered any curious enemies, anyone might find things out about her past. It would mean the end of her career, and much more importantly, it would be a serious burden for Draco to carry through childhood.

"Narcissa," Severa Snape interrupted her explanation, "whatever I say, you will do what it is you please. You think it's because of his father that Draco is so horribly stubborn, but I suggest you look in the mirror. Do what you want, as you always did." And then she was gone.

_So much for the help and support_.Narcissa thought, but she was not angry. Her cousin Severa had done much more already than could ever be expected. She had raised her own child, and still tutored him and held him in check. _She must be in the middle of important research_. Narcissa concluded. It was during those times that Severa was the least amiable and patient.

It left the single mother to her own devices to make a decision. It took another hour for it to come. After that time had passed, she took the phone again, and dialled.

* * *

"Mum must be busy again." Draco thought aloud as he contemplated a piece of cucumber on his sandwich, and carefully picked it out.

Harry said nothing. He was confused. He had come with the Malfoys once more, and again, he was not certain _why_. Draco was one of the most unpleasant people he knew, and he knew quite a few. But inasmuch as he remembered all the bad times, he also remembered the rare good times. There was only one good time, actually, the night they'd spent fantasizing about Hogwarts.

Alone in his room, or even in boring classes at school, the raven had secretly continued to fantasize, to build up a world in detail. Together they'd established what wands would look like, and where one would buy them, but Harry had spent quite some of his own time inventing spells, their incantations and effects. He did not need to write any of it down, like Draco had done in his notebook. He could not forget them.

And all the time that the raven had thought about these things, he had felt nostalgic, as if that world he was thinking of was missing something. It was missing someone to share it with.

The reason he was sitting on Draco's bedroom floor, despite all the reasons against it, was the hope that such moments would come back; that the world of Hogwarts would once more open to the both of them, and they could fly through it in perfect freedom.

"Aren't you eating your sandwich?" Draco interrupted the raven's thoughts.

Harry looked at his plate, and the cucumbers on his sandwich. He hadn't liked cucumbers either in the past, but now he ate anything. As long as it was food and it filled his stomach, it was good. He took a bite, then remembered what Draco had said before.

"What is your mother busy with?"

"She's a publisher. But she writes lots of articles too, about politics and such." Draco made it sound important. Harry was impressed. He would not have guessed that such was Mrs. Malfoy's job.

There was silence while they finished eating. Grey-eyes then put his plate away and crossed his legs, leaning forward.

"I didn't tell."

"Why do you keep repeating that? I know already." Harry rolled his eyes.

"I'm not sure you believe me." Draco narrowed his.

The raven formed knots with his fingers, interlacing them with the sleeves of his very large sweater. "I think I believe you." He managed to get out.

"What kind of answer is that!" Draco complained.

"What?"

"First you're angry at me, and when I try to explain myself, you just keep blaming me."

"Wait, I'm not…"

"Yes, you are."

"Draco," and here followed the hissing sounds of the raven's feelings bubbling up to the surface. Instead of banging on doors, it seemed that in Draco's presence, he always used words, his own special words. He told his grey-eyed mate exactly four words this time. And those four contained a mix of many meanings, but all merging together to form one feeling. They meant: "I'm trying, so let me do or say what I want", "this is getting old", "I don't trust you" and most importantly he meant "you're missing the point" and "you don't understand".

In this way Harry was always rebelling, protesting. He had never known unfairness when wrapped in the cocoon his parents had made for him. Now that he did, he never stopped having to defend himself against it. Curiously, depending on the one he protested against, it was expressed in different forms.

Draco had listened very carefully. His ears seemed to hear a hundred times better whenever they caught a glimpse of these unknown sounds. The most unusual aspect were the hisses. It reminded him very much of slithering snakes. The words were fluid and quick, and very accurate. They aimed so precisely that they never failed to reach the right spot in him, and made him understand. It confused him, because he didn't understand the words, but he did understand the meanings. It was as if there was a direct connection between Harry's mind and his, just for a moment.

And what Harry had told him now was that he had lost sight of the actual problem here. It wasn't about Draco this time. For once he was not at the centre of it. He was involved in someone else's life and past. After the raven's four words, Draco realised that, and he felt embarrassed. _Harry's in trouble_. He remembered thinking before. And well, they were friends… kind of. And his mother had told him what friends did for each other.

Unfortunately, Draco had no clue how to go about it. How did one act as a friend? The blond head was puzzled.

"You heard what some at school are saying?" He asked Harry.

Harry nodded. He had done his best to ignore it, but the different rumours had registered within his mind anyway, whether he listened or not.

"So…how…" Draco had trouble finding the words. "Which is true? I mean…what happened?" He had not thought of asking the question before. But now that he had, he was curious about it, and scared of it at the same time. He could deal with tragic stories, as long as they weren't _true_.

The dark-haired boy frowned as his eyes glazed over. He was thinking, thinking hard. But there was not much there. So many of his memories were still clear, his last birthday for instance, but that day… In fact, he could not recall much a week before or after. He only knew he'd had his book, his favourite book.

The book functioned as a link to that moment, the time he lost everything. He dared not go back to that time consciously. It was impossible. But through the experience of the book, which he had been reading at that time, he recalled in an unconscious way, because he dared not forget either. He had to keep his parents alive, the last moment of their family had to be carefully kept, but never looked at. It was a tough balance to keep, and it was only thanks to the book that the boy was able to do it.

"I don't know." Was his final answer. It was spoken in a whisper, a kind of defeated sound. It sounded nothing like the usual way Harry talked, and it discomposed the grey eyes watching him.

"When was it?" The blond insisted, not understanding how he could 'not know'.

Harry told him the same he'd told Ron and Hermione. And it was all he could say. He did not even know how he'd fallen into the hands of Rebecca, the social worker. Only that after many nights in strange places, he'd been dropped off at the Dursley's, and the greatest adjustment of his life had begun.

"But how did they die, and why? Don't you want to know who did it? Don't you want to take revenge?" Draco pushed on with questions. But Harry felt more and more distressed with every one of them. And he was unable to tell him to stop, he was unable to do anything but be afraid and confused.

"How can you just let it be? How can…" Grey-eyes stopped mid-sentence. Harry had covered his face with his hands and had started rocking slowly back and forth, his knees pulled up to his chest. The sleeves of his sweater were so large they almost covered his entire head.

The pale-haired boy immediately dropped to the floor of his bedroom and crawled up to the youngster. Stopping before him and watching, not sure what to do next.

"Are you crying?" He asked tentatively.

The grey sleeves of the large sweater parted sideways, and two stunningly deep and wild green eyes looked up at him. Draco's breath hitched and his body tensed. He felt the carpet of the floor under his knees and palms, he felt his own weight press down on them, and he was aware he could not move an inch.

Somehow, the face that had appeared from between the sleeves, framed by the grey fabric and the pitch-black strands of hair, with the two, clearly still dry, and piercing eyes, was mesmerizing to him.

"No, I'm not crying." Harry corrected him somewhat indignantly.

"Then why are you hiding?"

"I'm not hiding. I'm searching. I'm thinking. You're asking too much, and I don't know. And I don't know why I don't know, and you don't leave me the time to _think_. I'm not even sure I want to think, or know. And at the same time, I feel like I'll go crazy if I don't know. You just… just leave me alone, okay?" He snapped.

Draco nodded submissively. He was disarmed. He had nothing to say. But he stayed exactly where he was, for that was where he wanted to be.

"Is it hard?" He managed to ask after having recomposed himself a little.

The raven kept looking him straight in the eye. This what he seemed to be the one calculating. But not whether he should tell the truth or not. No, he was thinking for a way, a way to make Draco understand.

"Would it be hard without your mother? Without Snape?" Harry did not mention Draco's father. He still did not know who or where he was.

The blond retracted into his own mind, imagining, telling himself a story inspired by Harry's reality. He grimaced. He had his answer.

And now that he understood better, though not completely, _now_ he felt it. His mother had had to tell him before, but now it came as the most natural thing to Draco. He wanted to do something, he wanted to help, to change something, to make a difference. How he had not seen it before he could not understand.

The ten-year old scrambled onto his feet and started going through his closet again. When he was back, he laid something in front of his friend.

"I don't read it. So take it. You can have it." He said somewhat awkwardly.

But Harry didn't miss the meaning behind it. In front of him lay a book that had mesmerized him with its hidden secrets. The symbols had fascinated him, but he had not gotten the chance to study them further. The pages had called out to him, but his curiosity had gone unsatisfied.

In front of him lay the Russian version of Tolstoy's Anna Karenina, and Draco was giving it to him.

* * *

Here I am with the 21st chapter. Nevar is now old enough to drink in the US ;D (yes, this is the lamest joke in the whole of history)

Anyway, I want to thank everyone who's still reading this until now. I don't know how many of you there are, but I'm grateful to you all :)

And a special thanks to _Fireaquila_ and _smak978_ for being with me practically every chapter!

You can think that reviews don't really matter. But they really do, a lot. Without them I would not have been able to continue this far. It's what pushes me to take some time to sit down and write. Those few seconds or minutes it takes for you to write a review are precious to me :)


	25. Chapter 22

**Chapter 22**

The Monday following Harry's weekend at Mrs. Malfoy's house, a phone call came for him during dinner. They were eating steak (because uncle Vernon did not like fish) with roasted potatoes (because Dudley did not like vegetables). But steak was expensive, too expensive to waste on Harry. And aunt Petunia was not fond of meat. So she and her nephew feasted on beans instead. Petunia didn't eat very much anyway, and Harry didn't complain as long as his belly was filled to the brim. At least he had roasted potatoes. Beans weren't so bad either.

The sing-song of the phone was heard from the living room, and the housewife dutifully stood up to respond. She soon returned to the table with the instruction to Harry to go answer the phone.

Harry was puzzled and intrigued. He had never in his life received a phone call from anyone. Not at home, and not at the Durlseys. He was seven! Who could wish to call him? His friends simply waited until they saw him at school, and there was no one else he could think of.

He hoped to find a clue in Petunia's expression as he hopped from his chair, careful not to make a noise. There was nothing however. Since she had come back, she had become much calmer about anything that she would have loudly blamed him for in the past. It wasn't like she could blame him any more than she had done. She had said his very presence was the reason she had snapped and had strayed from marital loyalty.

There was only one way to know who it was, and it was to answer that phone, which the raven soon did.

"Hello?" He said uncertainly. It was the way he'd seen people answer calls, but he had never tried it himself.

"Harry!" A female voice beamed into his ear. "I'm so glad to hear your voice."

"Rebecca?"

"Yes, it's me. I'm not calling at a bad time I hope?"

"No, it's fine." Harry assured her. Having dinner wasn't one of his favourite activities. He didn't mind the interruption, if it meant less time in the company of his relatives.

"Good, good." She was quiet for a while and Harry wondered whether he was supposed to say something. But then she began to speak again. "Are you able to speak freely, Harry?"

"What do you mean?" He frowned.

"To tell you the truth, I would much rather have this conversation in person, but I am about 200 miles away and unable to get away at the moment…" she apologised, "but I want to make sure that your aunt, uncle and cousin cannot hear our conversation. I want you to be able to speak to me honestly. Are they in the room with you?"

"No, they're in the dining room." He said as he moved into the corner of the living room, as far away as possible from the door linking to the dining room and kitchen, just to be sure. He was getting more intrigued by the second.

"Tell me first, how are you? Did you make many friends? And how is school? Do you like it there?"

Harry informed her about his literature classes, his teacher and Miss Snape, about Ron and Hermione. However, he did not utter a word about Draco.

"I'm glad to hear it." Rebecca sounded genuinely pleased. A second silence came, as if she were thinking how to begin something she'd rehearsed beforehand. "The reason I'm calling is that I was contacted by a person…about you, Harry. That person wishes to stay anonymous, and expressed some…concern. Is there a cause for concern, Harry?"

"I don't understand. Who? Who called?" The raven had the uncomfortable feeling that he had been watched without his knowledge. That everything he did, good or bad, would be recorded and reported.

"I can't tell you, Harry, I'm sorry. But it seems to be someone you came in contact with. My question is if this person was mistaken. I will come and check on you when my schedule clears up, but in case there is something you want to tell me, I need to know immediately so that I can help."

Harry began thinking very quickly. An alarm had gone off when she'd said she would come and visit. Very soon it became clear to him that that would be a bad thing. If she came, there was a chance of her judging that he should be moved away from the Durlseys. But he could never allow that to happen.

Everything and everyone he cared for was here. It had taken time and effort to build a somewhat comfortable world around him. But now he had the Weasleys, the Malfoys, Hagrid, Hedwig and Hermione, the literature classes, the library… He could not give all that up. Moving again now would mean losing _everything again_. There was no way he could start all over. He would crumble. And what if the people he stayed with were even worse? He would not even have the tiny comfort that the idea of Petunia being his mother's sister gave him.

It was for exactly the same reason that he answered: "It's fine. You don't need to come all the way. As I said, I'm doing well. It's…it's a little difficult…adapting…but I manage, and my aunt and uncle are nice." He lied smoothly, without even choking on the word 'nice'. In his mind, he imagined he was talking about his parents, and the warm feeling that flooded through him infused his voice with convincing love. "I like them. And I like playing with my cousin."

It took an effort to maintain the focus on his parent's faces and voices, to trick his heart into thinking he was discussing his loved ones, but he managed. By the end of the conversation, Rebecca was relieved and satisfied that things were going better than she'd expected, and she even agreed that it was unnecessary for her to leave more important cases waiting just to come and check what she already knew. Harry was safe. He would not be leaving his friends if he could help it.

The raven _did_ realise that he had to be more careful. The rumours, and now this phone call were proof of that. Information was circulating about him and his parents. It passed between people he didn't know, people he had never seen in his life. He hated the feeling.

As he though it over in his bed that night, he came to the conclusion he would have to lie more, and more convincingly. He had to get better at it. He had to behave perfectly, and do everything within his power to make everyone forget any suspicion. He would be perfect and irreproachable, so that no one would have a reason to pay more attention to him than was welcome.

In the meantime, the raven had a new occupation. The book of poems from the library lay quite forgotten, all his attention claimed by the seemingly indecipherable novel, which was now his.

The feeling of being the actual owner of Anna Karenina, in original Russian, gave him a thrill he could not put into words; only his own invented words. A string of sounds came to his mind whenever he flipped open the cover, sounds that surfaced effortlessly, like a cork floating to the surface of a pond. How easy it was to express his feelings this way. But he knew the words would not be understood by others.

In that way, his own language was quite useless. The meanings he connected to the sounds, incredibly detailed and only applying to a particular thought or feeling within his mind, could not be picked up on by anyone outside his mind.

He had only ever spoken such things to Draco, and he wondered what exactly the grey-eyed one made of it. Those eyes had seemed to understand…at times…but it was vague…or hidden. Vague and hidden like the strange symbols that filled the pages of Tolstoy's work. Harry linked the present and the one who gave it to him in this way.

* * *

I'm really sorry, guys, for posting such a short chapter.

I'm in a bad place at the moment. I tried writing several times but couldn't put anything down. This is what I had already written before.

I hope I can get my mind together soon and continue this story.

Sorry again.


	26. Chapter 23

**A/n: **Thank you all for the patience (and reviews of course)! I hope it's worth it with this brand new chapter :)

* * *

**Chapter 23**

**A Snowy Mountain**

A mountain. There was a mountain. It was covered in snow.

From behind the mountain, over the peak, came someone. It was a human, it was a person, it was a woman. She had hair like…her hair was…it looked…unreal. For some reason, it moved in an unnatural way.

The raven squinted. The snow was so white and so bright, it was hard to see, hard to see what was wrong with her hair. Why was it unnatural? What made it strange? It _looked_ normal; there was nothing wrong with it. And still…there was something wrong with it.

The raven trudged up the mountain to meet the lady with the strange hair. He wanted to get to her quickly. He wanted to touch her as soon as possible. He had to be with her _now_!

_Why?_ He thought, and he didn't know. But still he had to get to her. It was the single most important thing, and Harry could think of nothing else.

He fought against the snow like a crazed tiger, but his legs would always sink deep under the icy fluff, and it was hard to get them out, to make another step forward. But there was nothing else he cared about, and he kept moving his short legs towards the woman, who was descending the slope of the mountain to meet him.

All that time, Harry kept his eyes fixed on her, nothing else. And all the time he thought about her hair. There was something about her hair.

"No!" Harry yelled suddenly. He hadn't wanted to. He just did. Just like that. _No_, he'd said. Just came out like that.

The woman had fallen in the snow. It looked like she had tripped or something, she'd fallen forward. She looked up at Harry from the ground. Harry was close enough to discern her eyes now. They looked at him in a hopeful and desperate kind of way. Hopeful and desperate.

And all Harry kept thinking was _no._ As if he were objecting to something. As if it mattered if he objected. As if he could _will_ something to happen, or not to happen. _No!_ He'd forgotten all about the hair. Just _no_, he thought.

Finally, he reached the woman. He came to her. But just when he reached out to touch, to help her get up, a voice said "Your mom isn't a very good cook, but don't tell her that, okay?" It had come from nowhere, and it went nowhere. Just a voice, echoing off the slopes of the mountains.

Harry tried to touch the woman again, but the voice stopped him, _again_ "I won't let him come anywhere near Harry…" And as an echo does, it repeated itself over and over, coming from everywhere and nowhere. Each time it grew fainter. "I won't let him come anywhere near Harry…" Again…again…and again…and slowly…nothing.

Harry was confused. He felt as if his toes were wet and sticky. It felt like they'd been glued together. He looked down at his feet, expecting to see them buried in the snow. And the snow didn't blind him.

No, the snow did not blind him. The snow was red. It was _really_ red. It was the reddest red you'd ever seen. It was deep. It cut through you, that red. And it cut off Harry's oxygen. He couldn't breathe, so red it was.

He looked at the woman. The woman was struggling against the snow, and she was crying. But not aloud. Just tears. Her eyes, they were green, and filled with tears. But they too became red. And her mouth became red, her hands and fingers… It came from her stomach.

Her stomach…

The raven screamed. It was louder than the disembodied voice had been. He screamed so loud it felt like he was tearing his body apart.

But then he couldn't breathe! He couldn't _breathe!_ And his scream was cut off.

Harry woke up with a cushion pressing over his face. He struggled away from it and gasped. Two hands immediately gripped his shoulders and turned him. The boy opened his eyes. And he saw nothing. It was too dark, and without his glasses it was all too blurry. But he remembered now. He knew where he was. And he knew whose hands were on his shoulders.

"Harry!" Draco's voice hissed in the dark guest room at the Malfoy house. "What is the _matter_ with you?" He demanded. He sounded panicked. His fingers were digging into Harry's skin.

The dark-haired one wriggled himself loose from the painful grip, then felt on the nightstand for his glasses. Once he had those on he could finally see a little more around him. It reassured him. There was no mountain, no snow, no blood.

Still, his breathing was very quick. It was loud in the quite large guest room. It resonated.

"Harry?" Draco insisted. He didn't sound reassured at all.

The raven could only nod. His chest was rising and falling at an alarming speed. He was aware of it. And at that point, he _knew. _And he knew that he'd always known. This dream wasn't a new one. He remembered it now. He'd had it before. Many times before.

But this time, the boy had screamed out loud, not just in his dreams. It had woken his friend sleeping next to him the in the large double bed in the guest room.

"What's the matter?" Draco asked. He sounded just a little bit calmer, now that he'd gotten a lucid response from Harry.

But Harry was confused. The dream was confusing. The voice, and the woman…he knew they were his parents, but they had been different in the dream than his conscious memory of them. And the woman, his mother…he'd seen her stomach...or rather, he'd seen where her stomach _should_ have been. That was the point at which he'd started screaming. He'd been _terrified_. And that raw fear was what still scared him in his waking state.

Harry couldn't make sense of all of it. Not yet. He only knew he was afraid. He was more afraid than he'd ever felt before. He clutched at his chest. It was still rising and falling too rapidly. He couldn't control it.

Draco was at a loss. He was scared too. He'd never seen anyone in hysterics. He'd never seen anyone have nightmares. He'd never heard anyone cry out in fear, and certainly not in the middle of the night, when he was asleep.

When he'd been woken, the first thing he'd thought of was to muffle the screams, so he'd pressed his pillow against Harry's face. He didn't really know why this had been his first reaction the second he woke up, he had just done it by instinct. But now there was no instinct to guide him. He clearly saw that there was something wrong with Harry. His breathing was much too quick and much too loud, and his eyes were frantically looking around, as if expecting something to jump out of a dark corner. It made Draco expect monsters too.

Finally, he grabbed his friend's shoulders again. He couldn't think of anything else. He tried looking Harry in the eyes, tried to make him calm down this way, but Harry wouldn't focus. His green orbs kept wandering around, looking for something.

Draco went a step further and threw all his weight against the smaller shape in front of him. He fell flat on top of the younger boy and held him tight. He didn't say a word, just held him tightly, and pressed himself against Harry's frail chest to try and stop the frantic breathing.

For a long time, the two boys, one a little younger, one a little older, stayed this way. And gradually, Harry's breathing slowed down. It slowed, more and more, as the minutes passed by; until he'd gone back to the normal rhythm.

Draco had not only felt the lungs inflating beneath him, he'd also felt Harry's heart beat all over the place. But it had been too fast, even for a panicked heart. There were too many beats. It was only when Harry had calmed down that Draco understood he'd felt his own heartbeats too. Both hearts had raced a hundred miles an hour, trying to keep up with the other, or maybe trying to slow down the other. Who knew why hearts did what they did?

After what seemed like _ages_, Draco asked again "Harry?" in a slow whisper.

He heard Harry swallow very loudly from where he was, pinned against green-eyes' chest, his ear close to his throat.

"Yes." Harry whispered back.

That was when Draco knew it was over. He sighed in relief and pushed himself off Harry to lie on his own side of the bed. He felt exhausted. Fear was _really_ exhausting.

"What _was_ that?" He kept wondering. "A nightmare?"

Harry nodded. Then attempted to speak with a hoarse voice. "I think I've had it before."

"Do you scream like that at home?"

"No. That never happened." He had not even been able to remember a single thing before. Now he knew where that unsettling feeling had come from, the feeling with which he sometimes woke up.

Green-eyes had calmed down, and he could finally start to think about what he'd seen. Draco asked him questions, and he answered truthfully. He told him of the woman and the voice. Of course, Draco couldn't' make sense of what the voice had said, only Harry could understand because he had context, but grey-eyes was horrified all the same.

Normally, Draco wouldn't be so upset at hearing a nightmare. Nightmares were like horror stories. They were dreadful, but they weren't true, and that made them entertaining. But having seen his friend's reaction, that blood-curdling scream right next to him, he felt that there was more truth to this dream than any other dream he'd had.

Besides, he knew about Harry's parents. Harry had never actually said they had been murdered, but Harry's aunt had said it, and the rumours said it. Draco decided to ask.

The question forced Harry to link the dream to his parents' murder. He still didn't remember what had happened that day. He didn't remember going to Mrs. Figg, or seeing Rebecca. Did the nightmare show how his mother had died? What had been wrong with her stomach? What had happened? Had there been so much blood? So much blood that it had drenched his shoes and even seeped through to his toes?

A strange kind of half-sob escaped Harry's throat. He felt his chest rising quicker again.

"Hey!" Draco hissed. "Not again!"

An order was no use of course. Harry wanted it to stop, but he couldn't' control it. He watched helplessly, as if it were someone else's body. It distressed him even more.

"It's okay! It's fine!" Draco whispered hastily. "You don't have to tell me." He sounded worried, but also a little disgruntled that he had to concede.

Harry turned his head sideways to look at his friend lying next to him. And Draco recognized the same expression he'd seen when Harry had hidden his face in his sleeves and rocked back and forth on his bedroom floor, the day he'd asked about his parents. Suddenly, his green eyes turned clearer, more piercing, as if he was simultaneously begging for something and screaming something at him. It was the second time Draco saw it, and it rendered him as speechless as the first.

Each time this happened, the blond understood more of how Harry must feel, and it gave him that weird emotion again, that desire to make Harry feel better in any way he could. It was such a new experience for him, it made him doubt whether he was physically sick.

This time, he had no book to give. He had no other idea than to shuffle closer and sling an arm over Harry's chest. "Come here." He said in what he hoped was a soothing kind of tone. "My mum always takes me in her arms when I have nightmares. It helps me a lot."

"My mum did it too." Harry said, and it hurt to do so. "But I was never this scared."

"Are you _that_ scared?" Draco wondered, remembering the scream and suppressing a shudder.

Harry nodded, and turned on his side so he could face Draco. It was more comfortable for both this way. It was the first time they were so close. He couldn't' remember Malfoy ever having his arm around him. Not so softly. It felt weird, because he expected this softness from Mrs. Malfoy, but _not_ from her son.

"It's okay, Harry, it's…" Draco stopped mid-sentence. He'd wanted to say it was just a bad dream, the way his mother told him, but he suspected it wasn't true, and he knew Harry knew too. So instead he said: "It's over." The two words sounded with such finality that it depressed Draco. 'It's over' meant Harry's mother and father were dead, and would _never_ come back.

Green-eyes didn't seem to take it that way though. He breathed loudly, but at a more normal pace, and crept a little closer to grey-eyes, fitting himself between his arms. It accentuated their difference in size. There was more of a difference than he'd thought.

For a while, both were content just staying this way. But Draco wasn't used to not having his questions answered. He wasn't used to unsatisfied curiosity. And there was this nagging feeling in his stomach. It felt a little like fear, but different. It went deeper than just fear of a big dog.

He found that the only way to relieve the feeling of nagging a little bit was to hold the small form in his arms closer. The less distance between them, the more the feeling dissipated. But never completely. He wasn't sure what that was all about.

What he knew was that he wanted to know more. He wanted to know what was wrong with his dark-haired schoolmate.

"Harry?" He whispered again.

"Hmmmpfff."

Then nothing. He tried again. "Harry?" But this time there wasn't even a mumble. He peeked down to look at Harry's face. It looked different. He assumed it was his sleeping face. People had sleeping faces, and they were different from their day faces.

The blond-head took off the boy's glasses. The metal frame was digging uncomfortably into his collar bone. He reached over Harry to put it back on the nightstand, and then he curled himself around him as if he were a stuffed animal, and went to sleep.

* * *

And we're back on track! I'll try and keep it up like before, about once a week. Hope you keep reading :)

much love from Aoiika


	27. Chapter 24

**Chapter 24.**

**Жуко́вский (Zhukovsky)  
**

_You're a Gryffindor._

This had been Draco's parting words when Harry returned home the next day. It was the best thing he could've said, because ever since he had been 'sorted' into the house of gold and red, the raven had started to identify himself with it, had started to take pride in it.

A Gryffindor's greatest attribute was bravery. So even though Harry had been reeling from the nightmare, even though it had shaken him to the point where he wasn't even trusting himself anymore, Draco's words had reminded him that he was brave, and that fear was nothing. Fear was an opportunity for him to be strong, and he wanted to grab it with both hands.

It wasn't that the fear was suddenly gone. It didn't work like that. It wasn't like magic. Bravery was the way you chose to deal with the fear. But it did not go away, you still had to live with it. But Harry would not shed tears, or feel sorry for himself. That was how he decided he'd live.

Besides, he had many things to do. The raven was very busy taking care of Hedwig who dropped by on some nights. He'd procured some newspapers from the rubbish to spread out on his desk, and had gotten a perch from Hagrid, so she could rest easily. Harry had tried to make her understand she had to stay away, but when she showed up at his window, she would not move. She would croon and hit her beak against the glass until he opened, and when she hopped in she would bite his fingers in discontent.

Hagrid had given Harry some dry treats he could stash at the bottom of his closet, so Hedwig would leave his fingers alone. After having given her food and water, and some attention, she usually forgave him for making her wait outside. And when she was bored of staying indoors, she would make it known to him, and Harry would let her out. He pushed her out whenever he had to leave, so that Petunia would never stumble across the owl for some reason or other.

Literature classes always kept Harry busy of course. But he had also started to see Draco more often. Sometimes he stayed for dinner after school, and sometimes he stayed overnight during weekends. And so it was easier for both of them to keep up with Snape, since they could help each other out.

Mrs. Malfoy was also very kind to lend a hand here and there. She knew a bit about it. She wrote for a living, and had Severa Snape in the family after all. A minimum of knowledge about the classics of fiction and poetry were necessary.

"Severa is pushing this too far, though." Mrs. Malfoy said as she frowned at their homework. "How can she expect elementary schoolers to understand all the layers in these works, all the social and psychological dynamics depicted?"

But Harry and Draco protested that they were perfectly capable of understanding all the 'grown-up stuff'.

Then there were his chores in the house. The raven was still helping with breakfast and cleaning and washing. Now that he knew how, Petunia also sent him out grocery shopping when she couldn't. He didn't mind _that_ so much as the rest, because at least he got to do it outside of the house. As long as he was far away from Vernon and Dudley, life wasn't so horrible. With aunt Petunia, things were different. On the outside, things were the same. She snapped at him, and he hated her. But there was some kind of unknown connection, as if Lily had the strength to form a bond between the two from her grave.

Last but not least, Harry spent more time with his friends than before. The weather was getting better with the coming of spring. Both Hermione and Harry were invited regularly to the Weasleys for some rugby or football in their large and wild garden.

Harry preferred football. Since he was the youngest and smallest of the players, he could never win against the tall older Weasley brothers in rugby, unless he was quick enough to get past them before he could get caught. But in football, there was much less body contact, and so he had more of a chance to get through.

Ginny was never allowed to play. Mrs. Weasley thought she was too young and small. And that was the exact same reason why she objected to Harry playing. She fussed around all afternoon, letting out little yelps every time she thought Bill, Charlie or the twins were too rough with him. But she could not prohibit him to play, and Mr. Weasley was sure to reassure her or send her away for some refreshments if it was really necessary.

Hermione was just as small as Ginny and Harry, but she wasn't as determined as the latter to play. She was content with watching from the sidelines along with the youngest Weasley sister, whom she had started to befriend.

Overall, it seemed like Harry and Hermione were effortlessly pulled into the family, as if it was already so large that one or two extra members wouldn't be noticed. Fred and George liked to toy with Hermione, push her buttons, and they seemed to like Harry's half-rebellious, half-timid attitude; an unusual mix. Mr. Weasley, Bill and Charlie were very nice and open, and did their best to make the newcomers feel comfortable. Mrs. Weasley showed all her appreciation with her baking and cooking, and her worrying about their life and health.

And then there was the last member of the family, whom Harry often thought of as somewhat of a ghost, who merely haunted the house, instead of actually living there as part of the family. Percy Weasley was the most serious person he had ever met with, and if possible, also the silliest. Harry tried to listen and be interested in the things he had to say at the dinner table, but he simply couldn't keep his mind from wandering when someone talked to him for _fifteen_ minutes about all the different kinds of stamps and coins, and how they had evolved throughout English history.

Percy was never seen when they played in the garden, except sometimes to complain from a door or window. He was like a jack-in-the-box, or one of those cuckoo's clocks where the bird peeps out and disappears immediately after its job is done.

There was a lot to see and hear among the Weasleys. There was never a moment of silence or rest in that house. There was always a fight, or someone doing something noisy (like the twins playing darts with chairs, or playing 'war' with bowling balls as cannon balls). Ron complained a lot about his family, but Hermione being an only child, and Harry being often lonely in his little desolate room, they couldn't often agree with him.

With his friendship with his two classmates growing, Harry began to feel the need to share more than he had done previously with them. Not about his parents and his past, for he had not figured that out yet. He still had the strange mountain dream from time to time, without remembering the actual events on that dark day.

No, what he felt like sharing, were the things he loved. He showed them his Anna Karenina book, and the notes he made to try and get to understand the Cyrillic alphabet. When he did that, he also had to tell them where he'd gotten it from, of course. Hermione would not rest until she had all the details.

So Harry told them more about Malfoy. He had to defend him quite a bit, especially after the whole rumour thing that had been started by Pansy Parkinson. And when he felt that they weren't really enthusiastic about the idea of him fraternizing with the enemy, he found nothing else but to tell them of what Draco could do. Not just the languages he spoke, but the world he had created.

That caught their attention, especially because Harry talked of it with such passion and excitement. For an entire afternoon, alone in the bedroom Ron shared with Fred and George, on a rainy day when they couldn't play, the raven told about Hogwarts, about its headmaster Dumbledore, about the forbidden forest, the lake and the Quidditch pitch. Ron was very interested in the last one. The idea of playing a ball game in the air on brooms was particularly thrilling for him. While Hermione was much more absorbed by the Hogwarts school system, the spells Harry had thought of, and the ministry of magic.

But when the raven tried to explain how Ron would be best in Hufflepuff, and Hermione in Ravenclaw, they both argued vehemently. It almost turned into their first fight (Harry against them, instead of Hermione against Ron), and at the end of it Harry had to concede and let them join Gryffindor. He didn't really understand why they wanted Gryffindor so badly. He thought all the houses were equally worthy. Except for Slytherin maybe. He identified everything he didn't like in Draco with the Slytherin house: the misplaced arrogance and pride, the authoritativeness, the selfishness and the jealousy.

Maybe it was the same for Ron and Hermione. Maybe the idea of being in the rival house opposite Slytherin, making them Draco's enemy in their imagination was simply too appealing. Harry chuckled at that.

Unfortunately, a certain blond and grey-eyed person was not at all thrilled at Harry decision to share Hogwarts with his friends. When the raven informed Draco, and told him of some ideas Hermione had offered, it turned into another one of their fights, and quite a severe one. It was so bad that Harry returned to the Dursleys just a few hours after he'd arrived at the Malfoy house, and didn't return until a fortnight later.

As usual, it was Mrs. Malfoy who made the first step to reconciliation and went to get Harry for the weekend, and brought him home. Draco had been unbearably moody and had categorically refused to apologise to Harry.

And so, neither of them apologised. They simply started to talk to each other, in an awkward manner at first, but soon forgetting they were angry and feeling too happy and excited that they'd finally found each other again after such a long time.

* * *

But then, something happened at school that none of the trio had expected. Harry, Ron and Hermione were playing around a bench in the schoolyard on a sunny afternoon, when Draco arrived upon them with his troupe behind him.

Immediately, the trio moved in defence position, standing shoulder to shoulder and glaring at the others.

"What have we here! Gryffindors!" Draco sneered. But it was different this time. Harry could plainly see the playful smile Draco used when he was pretending.

The raven was puzzled at first, not understanding why Draco would say the word 'Gryffindor' in front of his own group of friends, who knew nothing about Hogwarts. Hermione and Ron nudged him slightly, thinking that he must know what this was about.

"Since there suddenly were three Gryffindors, I could not allow Slytherin to be surpassed." The blond nodded towards the five or six students standing around him.

_Ron_ was actually the first to catch up. He knew about these kinds of politics by numbers. It was how things were done in his family. How many times had he tried to pry Ginny away from Fred and George? Or even Percy when he was really desperate?

"Those airheads can only count for _half_, Malfoy." He countered, bearing the same playful smile, which was soon imitated by Hermione who had thrown him a side glance. "So we're about even."

Malfoy turned an eye to Crabbe and Goyle. "I guess you have a point, Weasley." He admitted reluctantly. He seemed to be unhappy with his two closes accolites about some earlier dispute. "We're even then."

His grey eyes flashed at Harry, who felt happiness unequalled in the last year. Draco…_Draco Malfoy_ had accepted his friends, had accepted them into Hogwarts, into the Gryffindor house. He realised he'd been afraid before, afraid that he would always stay divided between Draco on one side, and Ron and Hermione on the other. He'd been worried he would have to make a choice between them somewhere along the line. But all of those troubles had instantly vanished in that moment.

It did not stop there. During the last few weeks of school, Draco more often joined the trio on the playground than his own. It was hard for him though. Hermione and Ron were two years younger, and Harry three years. When no one was around to see it, like at home, it had not posed such a problem, but at school, everyone could see him hanging out with the 'little ones'. It resulted in an upsurge of arrogance, but the moment he even tried to take the lead, they were sure to put him back in his place, and then he had to move back to his own group for a while.

It wasn't an easy group to keep together. Ron and Hermione were hard enough to keep the peace between as it was, and then between Harry and Draco, and Hermione and Draco, and Ron and Draco.

Yes, things were complicated. But Ron admired the 'cool' side of Draco, that 'aura' of leadership. And Hermione was _very_ impressed with his intellectual skills, as Harry had been before her.

* * *

Lessons were continuing as they should, and it looked like Miss Snape was determined to stuff every ounce of knowledge she possibly could into their heads until the very last minute. Harry was far from being the only one wondering how he would manage not to fail on her final exam of the year. He already had a bad feeling about the final essay he'd written. But like everyone else, he did not show it. It was a competition to show the least panic possible, and so all the students smiled awkwardly, and sat languidly on their chairs, pretending that nothing in the world was easier than to satisfy Miss Snape's unreasonable expectations.

Although Miss Snape had not loosened the reins in the least, the atmosphere in those last lessons was more relaxed, due to this game of pretentions. It was no source of concern for Severa, for she concluded that if her students weren't paying attention to her words, she would have the opportunity to fail so many more of them.

Harry had long wondered what good could possibly come from failing so many students. What would she do when there would be no one left to teach anymore? But Hermione had long ago conjectured that Miss Snape only wished to keep the very best, so that she would be spared from the task of explaining herself too much; that the students would actually do all the work themselves. Hermione had defended this strategy, saying it was the way to make the most progress in the shortest time, that it was how they worked at university (no other primary school student than Hermione would ever have thought about their academic career at that age) and that Harry should take it as a compliment that he was still in the literature class.

Harry had conceded, seeing no other explanation; although Fred and George's idea that Miss Snape simply loathed children seemed reasonable enough, it did not explain why Miss Snape was a teacher in the first place.

Little more than a week before the final tests of the year, the few students left were assembled in their usual classroom, the sunrays that came through the open windows inviting them out to play. But instead they were forced to bend over their desks to try and write down every detail while Miss Snape analysed a text from the Russian writer Gogol. Every head in the room was constantly darting between their copy of the text, and their notes, straining to follow whatever she was telling them about the art of 'Skaz', which Gogol was a master of, apparently.

Once finished, they were allowed a few minutes to massage their wrists and try to get the blood to flow through their fingers again. Harry thought his would fall off soon from the effort. It actually hurt to simply hold his pen.

The usual murmur arose while everyone talked or compared notes, when suddenly Colin Creevey put up his hand. Miss Snape stopped in the middle of putting something away when her disdainful look fell on Colin's upraised arm. The raven wondered how Colin found the courage to resist that look and insist on asking his question. Was he considering himself safe from prosecution just because these were the last lessons?

"Yes, Mr. Creevey?" Miss Snape questioned coldly.

"Is it true that you can speak Russian, Miss Snape?"

Harry saw Draco start from the corner of his eye, but he was more absorbed by the expression on their teacher's face. Snape's eyes had widened considerably and her lips formed a neat compressed line. It was not that this information was supposed to be a secret, but Severa abhorred being talked of behind her back, and even more to be boasted of, which she immediately suspected Draco of doing.

Harry's thoughts followed the same track. He was pretty sure his blond friend had talked a little too much when showing off to his classmates.

Everyone perceived the change in their teacher's countenance, and finally Colin seemed to understand how stupidly and carelessly he had behaved.

"Who has told you that, Mr. Creevey?" Miss Snape demanded much too calmly, her eyes still fixed on her protégée.

Draco shot Colin a hateful glare, but nothing could save him now. Except…

"It's me!" The raven exclaimed before he knew he was thinking the words. He immediately cursed himself for not thinking it through.

Draco's look turned to one of astonishment as he turned to his dark-haired friend who sat behind him, seemingly trying to communicate something to Harry through his deep frown.

"Oh, really?" Miss Snape wondered aloud, a sceptic shadow veiling her features.

"Y…yes." Harry stammered, knowing there was no way back now. The dark-haired, pointy-nosed teacher watched him expectantly, waiting… "Miss Snape." Harry added when he finally understood what it was she wanted from him.

"Well then." Severa Snape concluded calmly as she went back to her desk to continue the task she was performing. "The class is dismissed, you may all go home." Then she lifted her bag and smiled perversely at the raven. "Mr. Potter, you need not come back anymore."

The raven had not been as foolish as Colin not to expect some kind of punishment, but _this_? Just for talking about her, she was throwing him out of the course? After working so hard the whole year?

If she hadn't walked out of the room so quickly after giving him the news, Harry would have loved to say what he really thought of her, in _front_ of her this time. He had nothing to lose now, had he? But she didn't even leave him that satisfaction, and everyone packed their bags and left the room in high spirits, for the class had been dismissed half an hour early.

"You blithering idiot!" Draco hissed at Harry as they sauntered through the hallways to the exit. "Why in the world did you do that?"

Harry looked at his feet as he walked. He didn't appreciate being reprimanded by Draco for saving his bloody arse, but he was busy trying to convince himself of the bright side: at least he no longer had to worry about that final exam.

Draco continued to let out a stream of profanities and Harry finally decided to interrupt him, stopping before the exit as he turned angrily to his friend. There were still many children playing in the courtyard, enjoying the good weather while they waited for their parents or their friends who were still in school. Hermione and Ron were out there somewhere too, Harry knew, and he didn't want to face them just yet.

"She would have thrown _you_ out if I hadn't done anything. You know it." Harry said.

"But it doesn't matter, moron!" Draco fired back. "I won't be here anymore next year. But you still have two years to go."

Harry's mouth fell open a little. Draco was in his last year…he was leaving…He hadn't thought about that! Of course, he had been too rash in wanting to protect the ones he cared for. It was always the same thing that got him into trouble. But it simply was an instinct. He could not help reacting the way he did.

They glared at each other for a long while. Draco's look was calculating as he watched his friend. Then, seemingly deciding upon something, he grabbed his dark-feathered schoolmate by the arm, dragged him to the teacher's room and knocked. Most teachers had left and it was Severa herself who opened the door.

"It's me who told Colin Creevey!" Draco burst forth immediately. "I'm the one you should punish."

"Explain." Was all Miss Snape said, crossing her arms patiently.

"Yesterday, at lunch, Colin was telling everyone he would go to Spain this summer vacation, like every year, and that he could speak Spanish fluently now. But what he said didn't sound anything like Spanish, I was sure he was inventing it, so I showed him what I could do, and…well…they wanted to know how I learned it…" Draco seemed to shrink back onto himself as he neared the end of his explanation. Miss Snape's glare had slowly turned to ice.

"I've warned you many times about such behaviour, Draco." It sounded like she wanted to say more, but from the glance she threw him, Harry guessed that his presence prevented her from continuing. "I'll come by tonight to tell your mother. And to tell her you are no longer welcome in my class."

Snape prepared to close the door on the two boys, but Draco came forward again, pulling his friend in front of him. "Is Harry back in?"

"If your account is true, then Mr. Potter lied." Was the sole explanation she gave. It was clear enough. Harry was still out.

Before Draco could open his mouth to proceed protest, two figures came running down the hall and stopped next to them, gasping for air and bending over.

"Harry didn't say anything." Hermione panted, clutching her side, her bushy hair was in her face. "_We _did." She asserted. News had travelled faster than the raven had expected.

Miss Snape looked exasperated as she regarded the two newcomers. "Is this true, Mr. Weasley?" She addressed Ron with a malicious glint in her eye.

"Yes…yes." Ron panted along with Hermione, nodding frenetically.

"And what is it that you said that Mr. Potter did not say?" Severa held up her hand to prohibit Hermione from speaking up, making it clear Ron was to answer. Harry had a bad feeling.

"Uhm…well…we said that…you had a big nose?" His ears needed no other cue to become flaming red. Harry understood that Hermione had acted so quickly Ron had not had the time to understand what it was all about.

"I told everyone that you spoke Russian, Miss Snape." Hermione intervened hastily.

"And how is it that _you_, Miss Granger, know anything on the matter?"

"Miss Sullivan instructed us to look into our family tree. I searched the internet, and when I finished mine, I was curious about the teachers. I didn't find much about the others, but your family, Miss Snape, is such an old and respected one that there was much to be found. I was still surprised however when I saw that you had ties with the name of Zhukovsky, the Russian writer. I…I assumed, with such an important heritage, that you would keep your Russian roots alive."

She stopped for a moment. None of the four children had ever seen Severa Snape looking so astonished. Harry then knew it was all true. But why, _oh_ why had Hermione ever thought it worth her while to snoop around Miss Snape's family?

"I am aware I overstepped my bounds," Hermione added humbly, "I must beg your pardon for it. But Harry was not wrong in the least. He doesn't deserve to be banned from your class, Miss Snape."

Severa was starting to show signs that she was losing her patience quickly. Harry understood that they were all in danger of her wrath now, all his dearest companions, and he had already made up his mind about his dismissal from her class, so he stepped up again.

"I did not lie before," he insisted bravely, "I am the one who told Colin about you speaking Russian."

Miss Snape now gave a clear sigh of exasperation as she turned her indifferent eyes on him once again. Draco pulled him back, instinctively trying to shield his friend behind himself. It did not go unnoticed by their teacher.

"And how is it that _you_ know of it, Potter." The semblance of civility was gone and she no longer bothered to add a 'Mr.' in front of his name.

Darn! The raven had not expected to need an explanation ready. She had not asked one of him back in class. And now he was stuck. How could he have known? He usually didn't lack imagination, but none of what he could think of in a split second could sound as nearly credible as what Hermione had been able to bring forth. He could not say he had gotten the information from his friends either, it would incriminate them more, which was exactly what he was trying to avoid.

"Enough!" Irritation finally pierced through Severa's calm façade. "All of you, _out_! And _you_, Potter, with me, inside!"

She held the door open for him expectantly. The raven hesitated, stepped forward quietly, and looked back at his friends who watched him go with concerned looks. Ron seemed terrified, Hermione was biting her lip, and Draco, a head taller than both of them, was looking grave.

Harry was led through the teacher's lounge. Luckily Miss Sullivan was nowhere to be seen. Miss Snape made him enter a side office, took a seat behind the desk and made Harry stand on the other side.

"Now that we are alone, you need not indulge that ridiculous propensity of yours to play the hero in front of your friends." She sneered. "Tell me the truth."

"I did tell you the truth."

The silence was loaded with reproach and scepticism. But if she was asking him, didn't it mean she was doubting? If she was doubting, and he kept to his story, he could convince her…

For a long time, Severa simply observed the young black-feathered boy, watching every move, every impatient twitch. She had for a long time been able to see the bond that gradually formed between her protégée and this child, though what it was that Draco could possibly like in him, she did not comprehend. She had raised him better than that.

"Is Draco…"

"Do not concern yourself with Draco." Severa snapped and interrupted him. "He knows how to shift for himself. Besides," she added, "little does it matter who is in and who is out. I will no longer be teaching at this school next year."

Harry started, then frowned. "Why?"

Miss Snape's eyes narrowed. "You seem very quiet and shy, but you are in fact an impertinent little brat, aren't you, Mr. Potter." Her tone had reverted back to a cold civility, though it sounded somewhat sarcastic.

Harry dared not say anything more.

"Now that you are here, I will return your last essay." She began on another matter entirely, handing Harry a paper from her bag.

The raven took it apprehensively and looked it over while Miss Snape stood up to get something from the cabinet in the corner of the office. His heart sank, even though he'd expected it. He'd failed. 'Abysmal' was scrawled in red next to his title and his grade.

The sound of a heavy stack of paper being dropped onto a desk made him tear his eyes away from the sheets in his hands.

"This," Miss Snape said as she presented him the stack on her desk, "is a list of titles, text fragments, notes and assignments. If I am unlucky enough as to see you again in two years, and you bring me every single paper and essay of this list, _and_ if they are significantly better than the horror you dared bring me last week" she nodded towards the contents of his hands, "I will consider letting you participate in my class again."

"Then…do you mean you will be teaching somewhere else?" Harry asked. _Two years_ she'd said. That meant… "Will you be teaching at a secondary school?" She raised her eyebrows at him. "Miss Snape." He added hastily.

"It is none of your business, Mr. Potter. Take these with you, and disappear from my sight." She dismissed him with a simple nod.

Harry stumbled out into the courtyard, carrying his bag and fumbling with the heavy stack of paper in his arms. His three friends, who had been anxiously waiting for him by the gate, came quickly forward to lighten his load. It was then that some of what Miss Snape had said was cleared up.

When Harry told them every detail of the conversation that had passed within the walls of the teacher's lounge, Draco explained to them that Severa Snape was to teach at St-James' College, a boarding school in Somerset, which was where Draco was going in a few months.

"You're going to a boarding school?" Hermione sounded surprised, but not nearly as surprised and shocked as Harry felt. _Boarding school? In Somerset?_ What about Mrs. Malfoy? How could she send her son away? And when would Harry ever get to see Draco? It was too far to come back every weekend. He would only see him for the holidays. And even then, they would grow apart.

Just when everything seemed to be going so well, the little raven's heart felt itself beginning to unravel.

* * *

Good morning, or day, or evening, or night.

I bring you an extra long chapter to show my gratitude and love to all of you, to thank you for the reviews and encourage you to write more :)

The first part is a bit of a filler, to fill the gap, but I hope you like it all the same.

See you next time and enjoy the summer! (or the winter for you who live on the underside of our little blue ball)

Aoiika


	28. Chapter 25

**A/n: **Hi everyone. **Please read this!** I don't, really really don't want to beg for reviews and say 'I won't post if I don't get that much' or put it in bold and capital letters at every chapter, or other things like that.

I hoped that anyone who liked the story would review. Many of you do already do (and I thank those again for all the support!), but many don't. I wonder if there's anything I can do to change that?

I don't want to be annoying and whiny. I come in peace! **I will keep posting no matter what**. But my life would look a lot brighter if a heap of reviews were awaiting me every day. :D (as I'm sure is the same for everyone who writes stories on fanfiction, and I try to review every time I read a story, but unfortunately, I spend much more time writing than actually reading fanfictions)

With this said, I'm sorry for the little bit of begging, and here comes the good part! :D

* * *

**Chapter 25.**

**Lily and James**

Moments after the revelation that Draco would attend a school in Somerset starting September, Mrs. Malfoy's car stopped by the gate of the school. She didn't park very well and seemed in a hurry when she jumped out and walked towards the group of four, her eyes scanning each head with the different hair colours.

"Oh." She said. "Are these friends of yours, Draco?" She inquired politely. Harry thought her eyes lingered just a little longer on Hermione. But she had clearly not expected to see either her or Ron by her son's side.

Draco shrugged. It was his answer to all questions he didn't want to answer. The boy was probably not yet comfortable to call Weasley and Granger 'friends' just yet. He was there mainly for Harry. In fact, the reason he had made the first step to join the trio during breaks was because there seemed to be a little snake in his stomach, and it had hissed in his ear, saying that the brown-haired girl and the ridiculous-looking Weasley were stealing his time with the youngest one. The little snake had not anticipated that he would come to like the two 'thiefs', however. But the snake wasn't going to admit it easily either.

Narcissa was satisfied with the vague answer. She berated him for the rudeness of it, but it also meant that Draco was open to the idea of becoming friends with them, since he hadn't protested. She inquired further.

"They're Harry's friends." Draco explained to his mother.

Narcissa hesitated for a moment, but she had no time to think about it thoroughly. She decided to just go for it, and hope for the best. She had a good feeling about this.

"It's Draco's birthday tomorrow." She prompted.

Exclamations of surprise and congratulations flooded from the three younger ones. But even though Harry smiled and wished a happy birthday, it made him realise now even more than before, and more than any of the snide comments the blond had made in the past, that Draco was really much older than him. Because Draco would turn eleven, that was _four_ more than seven. And Harry would have to wait two full months before turning eight and catching up again.

The raven didn't look forward to his own birthday though. It was more like a nightmare looming in the shadows. It inevitably reminded him of his last birthday. One he had celebrated in another lifetime.

Harry didn't have time to linger on such grim thoughts, for Narcissa (ignoring a few social conventions) had already jumped to inviting them for some birthday cake the next day after school, which made Draco whine '_mom!_' in humiliation and discontent.

Hermione and Ron seemed reluctant. They both liked Draco much more than before, but they still felt that the distance between them and him was far greater than the one between them and Harry. Harry was the link, without him they would not be together.

Thinking that it was because their parents wouldn't be happy letting them visit schoolmates on a week night, and so close to end of year exams, Narcissa proposed that they visit the next Saturday, to celebrate her son's eleventh birthday. She wanted it to be the most fun it could be for him, knowing that it hadn't always been easy to create a celebratory atmosphere in the past, with Severa there, and Lucius calling…

The Weasley family gathered a little further, and Mrs. Malfoy soon found Mrs. Weasley to ask permission for Ron to come. Mrs. Weasley was so charmed by Mrs. Malfoy's grace and manners that it was soon agreed.

Harry also agreed immediately of course, and so only Hermione was left. She promised she would ask her parents about it. Her father was supposed to pick her up at the gate, but he seemed to be running late. So Mrs. Malfoy could not speak to him directly.

Narcissa thanked Hermione, looking intensely at her, wondering whether she would ever make a nice girlfriend for her precious Draco. All mothers liked to make such plans for the future, or at least daydream about it. She made the impression to be a sweet and bright girl.

"I'm sorry we can't stay longer," Narcissa continued in her polite manner, but still slightly hurried. "I remembered just an hour ago that Draco had a doctor's appointment. We really need to go." She smiled warmly. "Come, Draco."

The blond followed his mother reluctantly tot eh car. He hated it when she planned parties for him and invited people without his consent. Harry was no problem of course, but he'd preferred to have _just_ Harry. He didn't say goodbye, didn't wave from the car, and refused to say a word to his mother for the remainder of the day.

In the meantime, Ron's family was ready to set off home, for Mrs. Weasley still had to cook dinner for God-knew-how-many people. Harry usually walked most of the way home with the Weasley's, when he didn't go to the Malfoy's for the evening meal, or straight to Hagrid's. But since Hermione was still waiting for her father to show up, he decided to stay behind with her until then.

He hadn't had the time to recover from the shock of the news about Draco leaving, he'd only had time to hide it, and being among the noisy redheaded gang meant he'd have to keep it under control for so much longer. With only the girl next to him, he could let himself relax more.

Harry and Hermione went to sit on a bench in the school courtyard and set Harry's stack of papers from Snape beside them.

"Are you going to do it? Are you going to complete all those assignments?" She asked as she nodded toward the sheets.

"Probably." He shrugged, much in the same way Draco had just earlier. "I have two years to do it." He thought of the many hours of boredom that would come when he would no longer be able to spend time with Draco. He tried to convince himself to feel relief. After all, he wouldn't have to take all the arrogance and possessiveness over his mother, and jealousy, and superiority.

The problem was he liked the good times with grey-eyes too much to be happy about missing the bad times.

"I'll help you!" Hermione offered, sounding much too enthusiastic about such a ridiculously heavy task. Harry suspected her of being envious of him and all the extra work the literature class gave him. She soaked up knowledge the way Dudley soaked up fat and sugar.

Harry smiled his thanks, but frowned at the assignment sheets and notes. Even though he knew he would do it, if only out of curiosity or boredom, he felt it was pointless. He would never be able to hand them in to Snape. She would be in Somerset, and he would never set foot there. He would never be able to go to a boarding school. Aunt Petunia and uncle Vernon could not afford it, and even if they could, they would never do him such pleasure.

Maybe he shouldn't do the assignments, he thought in dejection; only to be reminded a second later of the true reason he wanted to read such difficult books, why he had joined Snape's class in the first place. _Read as much as you can. It's the best way to learn and broaden your mind._ His father had said. They had been his last words, before he left that morning and never returned.

The raven hated himself for even thinking of giving up. His father would never say anything to him again. Those were the only words he had from him, the ones he remembered so clearly. It was the only advice from him he could ever get. He had no choice but to follow it. As soon as he could, he would start the assignments, and he would keep on working until he was certain his father would be proud of what he'd achieved.

"It's wonderful that Draco's going to St-James' College." Hermione filled the silence, apparently daydreaming about entirely different things. Of course, she would admire such establishments, and the fact that Draco was going was to her proof of his intelligence.

Harry merely grunted, not able to think of anything suitable to say. He didn't exactly agree with her. Yes, Draco was suited for an institution like that, but Harry wasn't.

"I'd like to go." Hermione continued, expressing Harry's thoughts. "I mean, we still have two more years, but it's not easy to get into such good schools. We should be searching and applying already."

"You know St-James?" Harry wondered. The name only had sounded very fancy to him, so he'd assumed it was an establishment for the elite, but his friend seemed to know what she was talking about.

"Of course. We have _only_ two years to get ready, you know!" She said as she realised two years wasn't such a long time after all. "There are many things to think about. There are tests to pass, fees to pay, uniforms to buy…"

The more Hermione got excited over it, the more it made Harry's head spin. The little hope he'd had of ever getting into the same school Draco was going to, and continuing the literature lessons, was crushed. There was no way he could ever take care of all that by himself. He wasn't smart enough, and he didn't have the money. And it was so scary, thinking about all those serious things, about choices and courses and uniforms and elite classmates…

* * *

The weekend of Draco's birthday celebration came, and all three of the trio were present. Surprisingly, there was no one else. Harry had expected Draco's friends to be there, and seeing Hermione and Ron's faces, they had too. But there was no one else.

Mrs. Malfoy tried to convince Draco that they all go to the swimming pool, or the zoo, or some other place a little more festive than the living room, but before she could get her son out of his shell of stubbornness, she had a call from work and she had to leave immediately.

In the end, it was Miss Snape who came over to watch the children. And it was very clear that she would have preferred to be dismantling a ticking atomic bomb than being there. So the four friends stayed in the garden all afternoon, eating cake, playing imaginary Quidditch or listening to each other's inventions.

Hermione had come to create an elaborate system for the ministry of magic. She knew a little about politics, and she told them about the different departments. They were all annoyed after that because she wouldn't say what was in the department of mysteries.

Ron, who was so thrilled with Harry's Quidditch idea, hadn't hesitated to talk about the different stores where you could buy different kinds of brooms and all the maintenance materials. Instead of maths exercises, his notebooks contained drawings of Comets, Cleansweeps, Nimbus's and his favourite: the Firebolt.

Hermione added to that the stores for magical pets, adding Hedwig into the owl category; as well as an apothecary for the ingredients for Potions lessons at Hogwarts, and most importantly: Flourish & Blotts, the bookstore.

Harry was most occupied with Charms and Transfiguration and Defence Against the Dark Arts, and he proposed 'Ollivanders' as the wand shop, 'the best wand maker in Britain'.

And finally, Draco was only too happy to make a little detour on the dark side and he came up with Borgin & Burkes, which held all kinds of objects to satisfy anyone's fantasies.

During the long afternoon, they mixed all of this together and created Diagon Alley, with Knockturn Alley on the side for the illegal stuff. Every world needs a black market, an underground business.

Hermione and Draco made notes of everything, drawing maps even, and Ron was quite good at drawing the things they described. Harry was often the one they turned to when they needed names for shops or people.

Every time they came together after that, they either invented new things, or pretended to step into that world. They rode the Hogwarts Express, rode the carriages to the castle, wandered the halls and learned new spells and funny curses. They imagined themselves cursing the teachers they disliked, or running from trolls and dragons, or that their plates would suddenly fill with the most delicious foods by magic.

Not everything was always as peaceful and perfect and in harmony though. It happened from time to time that they quarrelled about certain aspects of the Hogwarts game. For example, Hermione was not at all happy with Draco's idea of House Elves who would so all the work for them, like slaves. And Ron was strongly opposed to the Ordinary Wizarding Levels and the Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Tests Hermione had introduced at the end of the fifth and seventh years of wizarding school.

Moreover, the rivalry between Slytherin and Gryffindor became very real at times. So much so that it took an intervention from Mrs. Malfoy to somewhat shake them awake and get them back to reality. Even the calm and rational Hermione was so absorbed in the game that she forgot that they weren't _actually_ rivals.

The end of year tests came and went, and summer was back. Between the four of them, much time was spent with one or the other. Harry slept over at Draco's or Ron's sometimes, but never at Hermione's. (Her parents never offered him to stay overnight, probably because he was a boy. And she never stayed the night with any of the boys either.) He visited Hermione though, when the Weasleys were away, or Ron, when the Granger's were away. Draco was reluctant to go to Ron's or Hermione's house, but he did join them on their visits to Hagrid. They all went to Draco's, to Mrs. Malfoy's greatest delight.

No one stayed with Harry of course. They had all seen the Dursleys, and none of them liked them, though they didn't suspect just how unfriendly they could be. No one would propose to go to Harry's house.

But even though they all saw each other a lot, whether they were all together or not, there were many days that Harry would end up alone. Hermione and Ron went on vacations with their families, and Draco had a lot of work to do to prepare his first year at St-James in Somerset. He visited the school and dormitories with his mother, went shopping for uniforms and supplies, went to welcoming parties to get to know his classmates and where the parents could meet each other.

Even Hagrid was often busy at his cabin near the forest, releasing animals or walking through the forest to look for wounded creatures, or simply to walk around and keep the garbage and unwelcome people out. Hagrid was in his element there.

The hottest days of summer were the worst. Aunt Petunia was pale as a ghost and would not go outside in the sun. So all the gardening had to be done by Harry at those times. He got multiple sunburns on his neck and shoulders, but he would not get tan. Once the redness was gone and his skin had peeled off, the new skin underneath was just as pale as before. Not like Petunia of course, and not even as pale as his blonde friend, but still, it was strangely non-tanned, and it was a reason more for the Dursleys to think of him as a weird creature to be avoided.

The hottest days were also the worst because Harry never stayed indoors, or as little as possible. The more he was at home, the more he was in the way of the Dursleys, and the higher the odds of Uncle Vernon getting angry and losing control, especially when he'd had a bad day at work.

Harry was still the black sheep, and every little thing that went wrong was always his fault. He got yelled at quite a bit, though real beatings were rare. Usually he just got a few slaps, but twice the head of the family got really mad, vein-popping mad, and Harry hadn't run away quickly enough. The bruises were bad enough that he hadn't dared to see his friends until a week later.

Dudley was also an enemy to be avoided. He was the same age as Draco, and though he was shorter than grey-eyes, he was much broader and heavier. Also, he had friends, with the same kind of brains and amusements. If they found Harry on the streets somewhere, they chased him on their bikes, throwing sticks and sometimes stones and gravel. And if they caught him, Harry would come home with a few extra bruises or even a bloody nose.

Overall, Harry's summer consisted of very happy, exhilarating moments, and very lonely, miserable moments. And if Hedwig didn't come by, the nights were the hardest. Because when the raven was alone and had nothing to do to keep him busy, nothing to think of, his thoughts would invariably wander to the previous summer. The heat reminded him of the room that had been his own, where he'd slept, where his parents had kissed him good night, where he'd fled when it was too hot outside, where he'd read with a fan next to him to cool off.

At nights this summer, the raven cried a lot, more than he'd ever done before. He cried because he missed his parents, and each day made him realise more and more that he would _never_ see or hear them again. It was forever. And that forever was too long! He was already forgetting things. He was already losing details. What colour were the walls in his parent's study, what shape was the front door? What was the last meal his mother cooked, what did they talk about in the evenings?

Such things were slipping away from him. He couldn't remember every sweater his mother had, or every pair of glasses his father had worn and broken. He panicked, wondering if he would someday forget their faces. Would he forget the sounds of their voices? The feeling of their lips against his forehead?

The raven lost his parents over and over, every night. He lost the little pieces, without him even noticing. Suddenly he would realise something had slipped away again, and it was too painful. So he clutched to his dream tighter, the mountain dream. The blood horrified him, and his stomach-less mother made him scream into his pillow as he woke up. But it was something that linked him to them, it was something he remembered.

Maybe if he could remember the _real_ events, if he could recall that one day when his life was shattered to pieces, he could remember all that he had lost, and engrave it into his memory forever, so that he would not lose Lily and James more than he already had.

* * *

Now I have a question for you:

Is the story progressing too slowly? I am planning to get to the flashforwards eventually, but maybe it's too long. Should I skip more? What are your thoughts?

And here are a few answers**:**

**To Kidscatscuz: **It's not really going to get bad with the Durlseys. Many fanfictions depict them as monsters, but I don't think they are. I think they are mostly stupid, or have never learned to think properly for themselves, and can't deal with their problems and emotions. And Harry is unfortunately caught in this dysfunctional situation. But he can deal with it. His biggest problems will come from another source. ;-)

And secondly, Snape (who is a woman, just to be clear) does not expect Harry to go to boarding school, and didn't know his parents (at least not personally). The reason she gave him those notes and assignments is that she recognized potential in him. She doesn't want to give him any special treatment, so this is the only way she could find to give him a chance to maybe do something with that potential. But the responsibility lies with Harry.

**To potterbuncker:** Narcissa, as you noticed, is trying hard to be a good mother to redeem herself, and to give Draco the best chances and thus education to succeed in life. But she doesn't always know what she's doing, and if it is the right thing to do. She matured quite late and is still learning how to be a responsible adult. As to what she will do when Draco is not with her, she does not know. But she feels it is an opportunity to spend more time on her career.

I hope these answers are helpful ^^

If there are any other questions about characters or events, I will try and answer all of them without giving away any spoilers ;-)

Thank you all for following, favoriting, reviewing and even reading. I still like reviews the best, because then I can have real contact with you. Otherwise **being an author is kind of lonely :(**


	29. Chapter 26

**A/n:** Whoaaa, it was so much fun getting all those reviews. I get to know everyone who's reading Nevar!

Thank you guys! It made me feel much less lonely. Answers to questions are at the end of the chapter :D

**Info:** I did decide to go with a time skip, because there is still a lot to be written, and I myself sometimes get impatient to move to certain parts that i have in my head, but not written down yet.

Thanks **potterbuncker**, you're sweet :) I never took anything the wrong way. I did consider some of your suggestions, but I couldn't answer the question 'why would Harry's parents have paid for _this_ school, among so many in britain?' I couldn't get it to make sense, and I already had half of the chapter written, so I kept it this way.

And to **Firaquila,** you're right. What I said before is partly because you said it. There is a lot to be written, and I can't write every detail down. I have to shift through what's important (and what's nice and fluffy or hot and passionate, of course).

Thanks for all the other suggestions too, I'm always happy to hear them, so don't hesitate!

* * *

**Chapter 26.**

**St-James' College**

A lovely garden on a summer afternoon, with flowers in bloom; little and tall hedges, a few marble statues and fountains. It was filled with the chatter of people in distinguished clothes, walking around with cups of tea and all kinds of sandwiches and cakes. It was a party aunt Petunia would have dreamed of.

Speaking of dreams, it felt like one to the small boy sitting on a bench in a remote corner, his small figure unnoticed by most. His green eyes watched shyly from the sidelines, from behind his raven-black bangs; his legs swinging back and forth, for they could not reach the ground from the high bench.

The boy was uncomfortable. Everyone was here with at least one parent. He had none. He had made the voyage alone, by train. Now he was waiting for the only people he knew. They should've been there, but he hadn't seen them yet.

Despite being a little forlorn, the child, who had just turned ten the week before, was happy. Two years ago, he had still been absolutely certain he would never set foot in such a place.

"Harry!" Hermione called out as she emerged from a small gathering of parents on the left. She looked giddy and smiled brightly as she joined him on the bench, her toes could just reach the gravel beneath.

Harry smiled back at her, reassured that he could finally talk to someone. He was most grateful to her, because she was the one who had urged him to seek contact with Rebecca from social services. It turned out that Harry's parents had left enough money to pay the fees of St-James' College. It had brought him into a _lot_ of trouble with the Dursleys, triggering their jealousy: even if they were his guardians, they had no claim on the money. And when Rebecca came to sort things out, they had been forced to agree and play along, in fear that their reputation as a perfect family would be ruined.

Harry had been forced to do everything himself though. He'd bought his own uniforms, his books, had passed the entrance tests, and had come all this way for the welcoming party. He had no parents or guardians to accompany him, and he was too shy to socialise with his future-classmates in such a short time. But the party was mandatory for all new students. So there he was, drowned in a sea of posh and rich.

Well, not all were rich. Hermione had gotten in on a scholarship. She'd gotten one of the best grades on the entrance test. And Ron, he'd been extremely lucky, almost as if he'd drunk some kind of luck potion. He'd begged his parents for the past two years to allow him to attend St-James along with his friends, and when finally a relative died (unfortunate, but with perfect timing) and left a good amount of money, Mrs. and Mr. Weasley had accepted to use the inheritance to pay if he got a partial scholarship. (They did not have enough to pay the whole bill.)Hermione had performed a miracle, and Ron had gotten a very good grade, earning him that partial scholarship.

His red hair was soon visible, bobbing through the crowd and making his way to the bench.

"Harry! Hermione!" He said, out of breath. Clearly, he'd been searching for a while. "There's so many people here! I thought there were only eighty students accepted each year."

"Yes, but if they all bring their whole families, like you did…" Hermione bent around Ron to look at the entire Weasley family, who were not ashamed to fill their bellies to the brim with the free, luxurious food.

Ron looked a little embarrassed. He kept standing, so that he wouldn't have to look at Fred and George who were practically stealing cakes from other people's plates.

"We made it, though!" Ron continued, refusing to let his mood be fouled by embarrassment. "Can you believe it?"

"No." Harry chuckled. He felt so light-hearted at the idea of being in the same school as his three best friends, all reunited once again, and of being away from Privet Drive for _ten whole months_, it was enough to make him float somewhere in the upper troposphere, above the clouds.

From the moment he'd realised he had a real chance of going to St-James, he'd started working on Miss Snape's assignments like a madman (sometimes doing them twice when he wasn't satisfied with the result), leaving little time for his other schoolwork. His grades had dropped a bit, and he hadn't gotten a high enough score on the entrance exam to get even a partial scholarship. But it didn't matter. Rebecca had told him he had enough money to pay for all seven years until graduation.

However, it _did_ mean that there would be nothing left for university. He'd have to work to finance further studies. But Harry was not worrying about that yet. Besides, all students had to take a new test each year to earn their scholarships. It meant he could always get one for the next year. But it also meant he, and Ron and Hermione too, could lose it whenever their scores dropped too low.

The bushy-haired girl had already promised she would keep everyone on track. She had bought each of them an agenda, so as to not fall behind on homework. No one would fail any test if she could help it. Ron wasn't all too happy with the power Hermione Granger wielded, but he could only concede. She had after all made it possible for him to come too.

There was one catch though. St-James' College was actually split into a girls' school and a boys' school. Dormitories were separate of course, and classes too. Only meals and breaks were joint events. This left little time for them to be all together. Hermione would be separated for the greatest part of the day. And Harry and Ron could no longer depend on her to take notes for them in class.

The garden party continued without a hitch. Clearly, the ones who'd organised this were experienced. The trio stayed close together, never really mingling much with others. It seemed that many here had their own little groups of friends already. Only a few stragglers were forced to stay beside their parents. Others were brave enough to make the first step.

When the sun began to drop low on the horizon, the atmosphere started to change. People began to gather closer to each other because of the oncoming chill in the air, and because at eight o'clock there would be a welcoming speech from the headmistress.

In one corner of the garden, a little podium stood, facing many rows of folding chairs. The first rows of seats were already filling up, and soon Mrs. Weasley became anxious for everyone to gather and sit down. Harry sat in the middle of a row, with Hermione and her parents on one side, and Ron and the Weasleys on the other. The twins were chattering non-stop, and Mrs. Weasley kept shushing them and throwing murderous glances in their direction. But when a woman appeared on the podium and everything went quiet, it was Ginny who struck Fred and George on top of the head, and they shut their mouths at once.

Harry suppressed a chuckle. Ginny was much less shy than the first year he'd known her. She was best friends with Hermione, and she often talked to Harry. She was fun, and she could be really scary when she got serious. She and Harry were the same age, but she was still in her last year in elementary school.

The woman on the podium cleared her throat and the raven looked to the front again. The headmistress was past middle-aged. She looked to be around sixty. Harry thought she would probably not be around for much longer on the job. But despite her age, she exuded authority, her face lined but severe, with her greying hair pulled tight in a bun. Her glasses made her gaze look even sharper, and when she started to speak, her voice was clear and concise, giving the impression that she was not to be crossed.

This was a woman who could handle someone like Miss Snape, Harry thought. And he instinctively looked around to look for the literature teacher he knew to be there, but had not seen yet. He could imagine she wasn't too fond of these gatherings. Maybe she simply refused to attend?

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen," the headmistress began, "and welcome to our new first-year students. It is with great pleasure that I witness a gathering of so many new faces. I am Minerva McGonagall, headmistress of St-James' College and…" Harry noticed that her eyes twinkled as she spoke. He felt she was speaking sincerely, but where she was passionate, she was also distant and careful.

The speech continued in quite a predictable manner. Only Hermione was really paying attention until the end, out of the three. Ron and Harry soon started a little game between them: spotting the most ridiculous hats among the crowd. There was a woman in a green dress who seemed to be wearing an entire bird on her hat, and if Harry remembered correctly what Hagrid had taught him, it was a pheasant.

Next to the old lady in the green dress and bird-hat sat a nervous-looking boy. He was one of the shy stragglers who hadn't spoken to anyone. He had a round face with puffy cheeks and a tiny mouth. His head constantly bent to look at his shoes.

Harry didn't dare look too long at the boy a few rows behind him, but he made a mental note to try and talk to him. He remembered only too well how it was to be thrown into an entire new world where you knew no one.

When the speech and party was over, it was time for the new students to retreat to their dormitories where they would spend one night, just to get accustomed to the surroundings, while their families started on their journey home.

The trio was split up for the first time, Hermione going one way to the girls' dormitory, and Harry and Ron the other to the boys'. Since it was only for one night, there were no fixed rooms yet, so everyone was allowed to choose where they slept. Harry and Ron stayed together of course, and were joined by two others, both quite chubby, but dressed in the smartest clothes they'd ever seen, and the most ridiculous. It was the kind of outfit you'd expect on a university professor, or a famous golf-player, or a member of parliament maybe, but certainly not an eleven-year old.

Those boys also talked in a different way, as if they needed to show even more how above average they were. But at night when the lights were off, Harry and Ron heard the whispered conversation between the two, and the words they used _then_ suddenly weren't so nice anymore. It was the first time the two boys were introduced to the hypocrisy of the posh and snob; something, the raven feared, they would see a lot more of. It was the only reason he had doubted whether he really wanted to come to St-James. But since staying at Privet Drive would certainly have been much worse, the choice had been readily made.

The next day, after a healthy breakfast with Hermione in the dining hall, they split again to meet and listen to all the different teachers giving presentations in their respective classrooms. When they finally sat down in Miss Snape's classroom, she didn't give any indication of having seen any of them before; which was what they had expected, so they did the same.

"They have this _huge_ library!" Hermione exclaimed once lunchtime arrived.

They were seated together again in the dining hall, and Harry noticed with pleasure that the awkward-looking boy (from the lady with the bird-hat)was sitting next to him, concentrating on keeping his eyes fixed on his own plate, apparently.

"We saw the library, all right." Ron grumbled and rolled his eyes.

Sensing a new argument on the way, the raven lost interest and decided it was the perfect time to do what he had planned before, during the speech, and he turned to the puffy-cheeked boy next to him.

"Hello." He began tentatively. Harry himself wasn't used to initiating contact. But since the other boy seemed to be even shyer than himself, he felt more comfortable. "I'm Harry Potter. What's your name?"

The boy nearly dropped his fork, his eyes wide and his little mouth hanging open in surprise, or shock, Harry couldn't decide. The raven thought of his words, wondering what could have been rude or misunderstood, but could find nothing. What could be wrong with a simple introduction?

"I-I-I'm N-Neville." The boy said, setting his fork down with a shaky hand. "L-L-Longbottom." He added hastily at the end.

_Oh._ Harry thought he understood why the boy seemed to be so isolated and awkward: he stuttered. Harry decided not to say anything about it and continued as if he were having a normal conversation with a friend.

"Did you come far?" He thought of his own long train ride. Somerset was even farther than he'd imagined.

"N-N-Nnno. M-m-my fa-family have all c-come t-t-t-to t-this school. S-s-so we l-live close b-b-b-by."

Harry tried to hide his impatience as he continued to talk to Neville. It took the boy quite a long time to get out a complete sentence. He could see how it could get annoying, but he was determined not to let that be an obstacle to friendship. After all, it wasn't Neville's fault if he had speech problems. He was probably even more annoyed at himself than other people were.

The afternoon brought them another speech from Minerva McGonagall, and then a guided tour of the buildings and the grounds. One could never deny it was a very beautiful place.

In the late afternoon they gathered their things from the dormitories and set off to the exit, where some were picked up by their parents. Others, like Ron and Hermione, whose families had gone home already and who lived too far to return, took a school-rented bus to the train station. Harry joined them of course, and together they had a pleasant train ride back to King's Cross, where Vernon Dursley had (very reluctantly) agreed to pick him up.

The morning after he'd gotten back to Privet Drive, Harry immediately went to the library without stopping for breakfast, to use the internet as he had gotten used to do. He went there at least once a week, sometimes to do homework, sometimes to do research about things that interested him, but primarily to check his mails and write to Draco.

Soon after Draco had left for boarding school, Mrs. Malfoy had moved away. Both her cousin and her son would be in Somerset for the greatest part of the year, and she had gotten the opportunity to be transferred to an office over there. After giving Harry her new address and phone number, and making him promise to call if he ever felt the need, she had left Little Whinging never to return; the Malfoy house now inhabited by an old and sour-looking couple.

It had made it even harder for the friends to see each other, even during holidays. Hermione and Ron had seen the blonde only twice, and Harry barely more, though he'd always stayed for a few days. It had made things a little awkward, but Draco had never forgotten or pushed the raven away, as he had feared would happen. As soon as they got used to each other's presence again, they were able to resume as if they'd never been apart.

When they _had _been apart, their communication had been incessant. Or at least, as incessant as it could be. Unfortunately the access to computers was very limited at St-James. Students were only able to use it during certain times, and only to do research for their homework. But Draco, being a permanent resident during weekends, could always find some time to write a mail at least once a week.

And so they had passed the two years, holding on to a friendship that had had a shaky start to begin with. It was only possible because both boys were so eager to talk and see each other. Draco had encouraged all of them to take the entrance tests and come to St-James, saying it was the best place in England.

The raven wasn't surprised to see Hermione there, plunged into a book and taking notes, when he reached the second floor of the library. She had never shaken her habit of coming during holidays. She always found some excuse or other, there was always an important test, or exam, or the first day at St-James' College in this case, to study for.

Harry had come to understand the girl was in perpetual preparation. If she wasn't preparing for something, there was something wrong with her. Ron had tried to get her to relax a little, but Hermione could not feel at ease if she wasn't absolutely certain she was ready, and she never really felt ready. She would study for days on end, and _still_ she would think she was going to fail.

After a short talk with her, Harry left her to her book, entitled _Basic Principles of Chemistry_. A glance to her notes revealed scribbles of symbols and graphs. It looked neat and structured. Hermione's notes were always clear and pleasant to study. It would be hard not to be able to depend on them anymore at St-James.

Now taking place behind one of the monitors along the wall, Harry logged into his e-mail account and found two mails from Draco. It was a holiday so the blonde was home and could send a message every day. And Harry had been gone for two entire days, unable to respond.

_How did it go? Did you catch your train? I told you the platform was hard to find._

_You must be on your way now. I guess I won't have an answer until tomorrow at the earliest._

_Anyway, it's been quite boring over here. Nothing to report. Siberia's still waking me up at seven every morning to make me study. I swear I'm going to throw her a toe-biting jinx one of these days. I've been daydreaming about it while she lectures me about my failing grade. "Latin and Greek are important to structure your mind and discipline your memory" she says and so on. You'd think she doesn't say much, but Merlin can she babble when she's in the mood._

_Latin and Greek are so boooooring! You can't even use it! And no one can speak it, only read it. I fucking hate it. So I'm certain Hermione'll have the time of her life with it._

Since they were constantly writing back and forth, they didn't bother with greeting each other anymore and immediately said what they wanted to say. Harry didn't even see that the greeting was missing anymore. He also recognized 'Siberia', which was the nickname they used for Severa Snape.

Draco had failed for Latin and Greek, because he hadn't worked one bit for it. He'd made it clear a while ago that he was against it, so Harry had expected it. And now Siberia was making him work for a second test which would take place during the last week of August. Draco was lucky that he didn't have to depend on a scholarship, for he would've already lost it.

Also, even after two years, they were still delighted to play the Hogwarts game. Though it wasn't really pretending that they did, but more like using a secret language. They spoke of 'muggles' when they talked of 'outsiders', people who didn't know about the Hogwarts world. Or sometimes they used the term to indicate people with no imagination, boring people. And all four of them had taken on the habit of saying 'Merlin' instead of 'God'. No one ever understood why, except them.

But Draco had also learned some other things. Harry had noticed in the mails that the blonde had changed a little. For example, he never used to say 'fucking' before, but now he used it all the time. It was as if he'd gotten more aggressive, but in a much less childish, and scarier way. The raven wondered what Mrs. Malfoy and Siberia thought of that.

Harry opened the second mail before beginning to write one himself.

_What, you're not home yet? Merlin, you know I'm impatient! Why are you making me wait so long!_

_How did it go? Did you see McGonagall? She may look old but watch out for her, because she sees EVERYTHING. And was Siberia there? I didn't see her when I went to the welcoming party. I've always wondered if she even bothered to show up._

_Did you meet anyone else? I know Smith's younger brother's a first year too, and Pansy says she knows some girls in first year._

_I'm still baffled that Ron even made it in, but with a scholarship! Hermy's got enough brains for two, I guess._

_By the way, if you don't want to get massacred by Siberia all year (like I am now), don't forget to take those assignments she gave you from the very first day. She'll probably ask for them the first chance she gets._

Yes, Pansy was also at St-James, in Draco's year, though in the girls' school, of course. It hadn't particularly overjoyed Harry (and rather enraged Hermione), but Draco seemed cool with it, so the raven hadn't said any more about it. He had no business telling him who his friends should be; he was grateful enough that _their_ friendship was still intact.

It was with this optimistic thought that he clicked on 'reply' and started moving his fingers swiftly over the keyboard, something he'd learned to do a long time ago, on his parents computer; but which he had perfected through his correspondence with the grey-eyed boy.

_I just got back yesterday, but it was too late to come to the library._

_Yes, I saw McGonagall. She looks severe and even a little scary. She's probably the only headmistress who would ever want to hire Siberia. I'm curious to see them face to face._

_But I didn't see Siberia at the party. I thought the same thing you did. If she even showed up, it must've been a short appearance, just for the sake of it._

_Hermione's going off the rocker over this. She probably already read some book or other about Latin and Greek, if it exists. She's behind me right now, taking notes on Chemistry. I wonder if she'd pass if the end of year exams were taken on our first day. There's a good chance she would._

_I'll be dragging those assignments everywhere I go. Siberia can ask for them whenever she likes, I'm prepared._

Harry purposely ignored the bit about whether he'd met anyone else at the party. There was really only one other person he'd spoken with (and even then only a little), and that was Neville Longbottom. He didn't want to admit to his friend how socially awkward he was, especially since Draco had been telling him about how well he went on with everyone in his year; with Pansy apparently still running around behind him wherever he went, just like she'd done at their old school.

Honestly, Harry, Ron and Hermione just felt comfortable with each other. And Harry didn't feel like making many changes. But he did feel some anxiety, for he knew that change would be inevitable during the coming school year.

* * *

Now, I'd like to call the attention to a question from **kidscatscuz: **_I've haven't encountered the word Nevar. What does it allude to?_

I was wondering if anyone had figured it out. :p So, _has_ anyone figured it out? You're all welcome to take a guess. In fact, the one who gets the right answer wins a **prize!** I will name a character in the story after the winner (you can choose whether it's your pen name, nickname, or real name, of course) What do you think of that? ^^

Time for some answers!

**To KillJoy7772**: Narcissa is acting a little desperate for Draco to have friends, because she feels the ones he has aren't really his friends. He doesn't enjoy spending time with them like he should. It was only when Harry came into his life that he seemed to care whether Harry was there or not. Narcissa wants him to have friends he can be happy with, and not just little followers who are scared of him or admire him in some way.

And Draco _is_ upset about leaving, but he hasn't quite gotten the emotional maturity to admit such things. He doesn't even want to call Ron and Hermione friends yet, even if he has agreed to share the Hogwarts world with them (which was a rather big step for him). Don't expect too much from him, he's a stubborn little thing! :p

**To bbbreeex**: Yes, I think the flash forwards were indeed a little confusing for everyone. So I thought I would stick to the present storyline. Also, I can't think of anything to write without giving major spoilers. I can't rule it out, but for now I don't have any intention of writing more flash forwards.

**To smak978**: Just wanted to say I'm happy you didn't disappear :D

**To anonymous Guest:** This chapter kind of answered the question already. Yes, Harry did do the assignments, but believe me, Hermione had to nag quite a bit for him to get started on it :p

**To warattekudasai**: Thanks for your encouraging words. I just wanted to say I love your nickname. I _did_ laugh when I saw it. ;)

**To all the other reviewers:** Thanks for the support and comments and suggestions! I had a lot of fun reading it all, and it made it a lot more fun to write the next chapter of Nevar. Keep it coming please! Anything that comes to mind, I'm happy to hear (read)!

(I'm sorry for all the exclamation points. I always use them when I want to show that I am sincere. Maybe I should get rid of the habit :s )

And thanks for all the favourites, follows, etc... I love you all! (another exclamation point)


	30. Chapter 27

**Chapter 27.**

**Soon**

Soon. _Soon!_

Soon he would be gone. Soon he would sleep in a comfortable bed, in a beautiful, heated room. Soon he would have a delicious breakfast with his friends every day, not having to worry about angering or irritating the head of the Dursley family all the time. Not having to listen anymore to the empty and meaningless chatter about neighbours and colleagues at Grunnings, or having to watch his slightly disgusting cousin stuff his mouth.

Soon he would no longer have to live amongst hostile faces, with people who grouped against him, rejecting him for some reason he had never understood. He would have his friends with him _all_ the time. At least Ron. If he was lucky enough to be in a room with him in the dorm…

Soon he would be able to see Draco again, instead of having to resort to mails all the time. He would wake up carefree, and go to sleep carefree, only having to worry about classes and homework.

And all this was possible thanks to his parents. For many months, the raven had felt abandoned, left behind with the Dursleys while his mother and father had left somewhere he could never reach. Watching the pictures he kept under his floorboard, the seven photos that represented the first seven years of his life, had been almost too painful in the past. He'd avoided taking them out of their hiding place as much as possible.

Whenever Harry took the pictures out _now_, he still felt pain, loss, and regret, but he also felt incredibly grateful. For the first time in three long years, Harry was able to smile, if only a little, at the images of himself and his parents. He thanked them every chance he got. Even from their graves, or wherever they were, he felt like they were taking care of him. Finally, he had regained a little piece of them, something he could cherish with more care than ever before.

The raven felt like he was a ray of sunshine. His frail silhouette blended in with the golden colour of the sunset as he walked around the neighbourhood. He breathed in the sultry air of a hot summer's evening, and spread his arms behind him, feeling a light, warm breeze envelop his fingers. If he closed his eyes, he could actually imagine himself flying off into the pink clouds above. Whether it was alongside Hedwig, or on the latest Nimbus or Firebolt Ron had drawn, he didn't care.

The raven had spread his wings.

It was the last evening he would spend at number four Privet Drive until the next summer vacation. A very long time for a ten-year old. And Harry was taking a last tour of the surroundings, taking in the few things that he would miss as he walked back from Hagrid's, where he'd gone to say goodbye. A few tears had been blinked away from the big man's eyes and had disappeared into his chaotic beard, making the small boy's heart cringe in guilt and sadness.

And Hedwig. Even though she wasn't supposed to understand, Harry had been almost certain he'd seen her turn her back to him, as if resenting him for leaving. He'd tried to whisper his apologies to her as she sat on her perch (as she was now permanently living with Hagrid for she always came back if he tried to release her), but she had flown out the window when he'd tried to touch her.

The dark-haired boy also made a quick stop at the park, sitting down on the only swing that wasn't broken. A very long time ago, Harry had yelled at Draco not to break the swings, right in this spot. But Dudley and his little gang had gotten to it in the end, making it a game to destroy everything that could be a source of amusement for anyone other than themselves. The last swing wouldn't survive for long.

Harry found himself apologising to the swing for leaving. It looked so sad and abandoned as he walked away. Especially when he thought he was leaving it into the hands of his cousin. But even if he'd stayed, what could he have done? He was quick with his words, and he'd humiliated Duddlykins many a time, but he was no match on the physical level, Dudley being thirteen, and Harry being small even for his own age.

Besides, it would never be a fair fight. At the house, Dudley Dursley had his parents to back him up, and outside, his group of friends would gladly join in if it came to a fight. Harry had not a chance in hell.

The trees looked like they were waving them goodbye too as he left the park, went around the roundabout and then down Privet Drive. With a last glance to the brilliant sky, the raven went inside for his last dinner and night.

The next morning, Harry found himself too nervous to be able to eat much of the breakfast he'd helped prepare. It was rather early too, too early for Dudley who never got up before eleven during holidays. The larger boy would eat his breakfast later. For now, it was just uncle Vernon, aunt Petunia, and Harry at the table. It wasn't as if he minded not having to see Dudley again before he left. The only gestures the big child had ever made towards him was to chuck something at him, laugh at him, or rat him out to Vernon and then watching eagerly to see him yelled at or punished.

Petunia and Vernon seemed both in a different mood than usual. There was a mixture of relief and joy to be rid of their burden, but they bore a lot of resentment for their nephew about this whole situation.

"Took him in, paid for the damned kid for three years, and he's got a whole bloody stash of money hidden away." Harry heard uncle Vernon mutter as the two of them drove to King's Cross. It wasn't the first time he heard it.

_Just a few more minutes. _The raven bit down on his tongue, trying to refrain from any comment. Vernon wouldn't dare hit him now, just before sending him off to school. Petunia had forbidden it, afraid that the school nurse at St-James would notice. Nevertheless, Harry thought it wasn't worth ruining his day to stir up trouble.

To keep his mind off the large man behind the wheel of the car, mumbling profanities or insults to himself, green-eyes thought back to the previous night. He hadn't been able to catch much sleep, and he'd kept looking out the window, hoping to see the pale, spotted figure of Hedwig coming to visit him. But she hadn't come, probably still angry that he was leaving her behind. He felt a pinch at his heart, and disappointment that he hadn't been able to stroke her feathers just one last time. But he comforted himself by thinking of the company she would keep Hagrid.

Once arrived at the station, uncle Vernon didn't bother parking. He stepped out the car, dropped Harry's single bag on the pavement, sat back behind the wheel and drove off without so much as a goodbye.

The Dursleys weren't at all happy with this. The boy they'd always rejected, always criticized, always thought too unmannered and ungrateful to deserve their love and attention could now afford a better school then _they_ could for their own son. It was a humiliation if nothing else. And the money they had spent buying him the few things he had really needed was a lost investment to them. They felt, as guardians, that they had a right to at least a part of the money. But it was all meant for their good-for-nothing nephew, or so Rebecca had said.

The raven heaved his bag off the pavement. Luckily, he'd been allowed to leave the books and uniforms and other materials he'd bought for school in Somerset in a storage room in the St-James dormitory for boys. A few others, who thought it would be ridiculous to take it all the way home, and then back to school again had done the same, like Ron. But Hermione hadn't been able to leave her textbooks behind, wanting to get a head start in them before term began.

So the bag he was carrying now only contained his own clothes and the few possessions he'd still had in his room. His 'Dumbledore' book with the pictures of him and his parents slipped inside, was rolled carefully in one of Dudley's old sweatshirts for the trip. And of course, the Russian copy of Anna Karenina Draco had given him two years previously was in there too, safely tucked away.

It wasn't difficult to find the platform this time, since Harry had already taken the same train several weeks earlier for the welcoming party. Besides, there was a group of tall and short redheads bouncing around, with a bushy mane of brown among them. Even from afar it could not be mistaken that the Weasleys were at King's Cross.

The usual greetings and cheers erupted when they saw Harry approaching. Mr. Weasley immediately took over Harry's bag to set it on one of the trolley's they had with them.

"You packed light, I see." He said with a wink to the boy.

Harry gave him a half smile, not ready to admit it was practically _all_ he owned. He'd had to leave a few things, because his bag wasn't big enough, and the Dursleys would never give him one of theirs. He thought to himself that he should've bought one with the money Rebecca had granted him for school supplies, but then shrugged, thinking he'd have plenty of opportunities to do so later.

Hermione was so exhilarated and tense at the same time that she seemed unable to say much, other than a few comments on a dark spot on Ron's nose. The Weasley rubbed at it furiously, throwing dark looks at the girl, but the mysterious spot wouldn't go away.

Chuckling at the sight, Harry tried to lighten the mood between the two, not wanting to witness a fight on their very first day.

After a full ten minutes of hugging and goodbyes, the three of them were in the train, their bags hoisted on the luggage racks. Ron took out a bag of mini-muffins that his mother had baked the day before, but neither of the other two felt like eating anything.

"Suit yourselves." He shrugged and then stuffed two muffins at once into his mouth, making Hermione sigh and roll her eyes.

"I read about the school on the website." She began, and proceeded to telling them about every single school event, and all the different rules and other sports or activities available.

"Horseback riding?" Ron exclaimed after listening, one eyebrow raised in a comical way. "That thing you do when you sit on a horse's back…and ride?"

"No, of course not." Hermione said sarcastically. "What else could it _be_, Ron!"

"Are _you_ going to go horseback riding?" The redhead turned to Harry with that same funny eyebrow.

Green-eyes shrugged. "I don't know. Why not? I've never tried it."

"Oh, it's fun!" Hermione interjected. "You have to at least try it once."

"And be stomped to death by one of those beasts? I don't think so." Ron protested.

"Beasts? They're beautiful animals!"

"Yeah, some people say the same about spiders." Ron shuddered.

As the redhead and bushy-mane continued to snap at each other, arguing back and forth in favour or against this or that sport, Harry leaned back in the comfortable seat and looked outside. For the last day of august, the weather was extremely bad. It was cloudy, windy, and he could see raindrops starting to smash against the window.

And tomorrow would be September 1st, the first day of class. Excitement and anxiety mixed together in the pit of Harry's stomach. Thinking about the four friendly faces he already knew at the school, he felt just slightly more confident, and he was able to close his eyes and recuperate a little from his sleepless night.

Once the train pulled into the station at their destination, Harry and Ron helped Hermione with her extra bag that contained her books, while carrying their own lighter bags. It was a difficult and lengthy operation with their skinny arms and small frames. Ron was barely taller than Harry and Hermione, but he had not an ounce more muscle.

They weren't in a hurry though. There was a bus, rented by the school again, waiting outside for all the students to arrive from the different parts of the country. It was already two o'clock in the afternoon by the time the bus-driver unloaded all the luggage on the school's parking lot, where many parents were doing the same for their children as they dropped them off.

There were eighty students for each of the seven years, totalling five hundred and sixty students. But not all of them were boarders. A quarter lived close enough to go home in the evenings. Still, about two hundred boys could be housed in the dorms for the boys' school, and the same for the girls' side. It was needless to say that the parking lot was slightly chaotic. Parents were bringing their children's bags to the dorm buildings. For the ones who had arrived by train, sixth and seventh years who had already put away their things had been instructed by the teachers to help them.

Nevertheless, amongst the throng of arrivals, the trio was found by Mrs. Malfoy, who didn't live too far that she couldn't drop off her son herself at the dorms. She looked exactly the same as Harry remembered her. Her relatively young face lined with worries, but her blue eyes spoke of experience and alertness. Her white-blonde hair always in a long braid, slung over her shoulder; and her stance one of civility, strength and kindness.

Mrs. Malfoy was carrying a bag as she waved to them among the crowd, Draco following close by with a black suitcase; but with a reluctant step, as if wanting to keep his relation to that woman a matter of discretion.

At thirteen years of age, Narcissa was witnessing her only son's gradual transition into puberty. It did not make matters easier. Fortunately, he hadn't gotten his growth spurt _yet_, but his stubbornness, his mood swings, his desire for independence and his need to distance himself from his mother so as to prove himself to his mates had gotten more pronounced.

Narcissa found herself having to berate him for his language much more since he'd gotten into St-James, and she didn't like the sound of some of his classmates. But it was with relief that she noticed the absence of any complaints from the school. Except for his dreadful performance in ancient Greek and Latin, Draco seemed to be handling himself with more dignity than she'd expected; probably mixed with a lot of arrogance, but at least he was not being too troublesome.

The fact that Severa was a professor at St-James, and keeping a constant eye on him was most certainly the main reason for Draco's 'good' behaviour. And if he ever did stray, it was Severa who was quick to find him out and punish him for his deeds.

"Harry." Mrs. Malfoy beamed once she was close enough for them to hear. "Hermione, Ron." She smiled to them too. "I see you're still inseparable. I haven't had the chance to congratulate you all at having passed the entrance examinations."

Hermione's back straightened with pride, despite the heavy book-bag she was hauling behind her. Even Ron couldn't suppress a smile of delight. It wasn't so often he got compliments about his academic achievements.

Harry thanked her as well, genuinely happy to see the graceful lady again, though a little uncomfortable after not having talked to her in many months. His eyes inevitably strayed to the figure standing slightly back. Draco looked torn between happiness at seeing his friends, and some other, more negative emotion towards his mother. Harry wondered whether they'd fought on the way here. He'd witnessed quite a row the last time he'd visited the Malfoys at their new house.

"That looks truly heavy, Hermione. Would you like me to help carry anything? It's always a little hectic on arrivals day." Mrs. Malfoy explained as she stretched out her free hand to the girl.

Hermione handed her the bag filled with her school things and thanked her, and they all set off amongst the crowd towards the school dormitories.

The boys' and the girls' dorms were in fact one large building, but separated on the inside, making it impossible to go from one to the other without going outside first. It was by far the most modern-looking structure on the grounds. Hermione had explained it on the train, telling them how the first dormitory (when the school was still an all boys school) had been built in the early twentieth century. But it had been neglected so much during the second world war that it had to be rebuilt, and a second dormitory for girls was added at the same time. But both those structures had gotten too old by the end of the century, and too small to hold the swelling number of pupils. They'd had no other choice but to build an entirely new complex ten years ago, rising four stories high and forming a U-shape around an inner courtyard that faced towards the school building. Each of the four floors was a long hallway with twelve to thirteen rooms, furnished with two bunk beds and four small built-in closets. There was one room for the superintendant on the ground floor, and one for the night nurse on the third, in case anyone got sick during the night.

And lastly there was one large common space on the ground floor that opened up on the co-ed courtyard. It held long tables for study, a corner with couches and pouf's, a few desks along the walls with computers, a television and a game-console.

The girls' dorm was the mirror image of the boys', only on the left side of the building. Mrs. Malfoy accompanied Hermione there, while Ron, Harry and Draco headed inside on the right side.

Before Harry could say something to dispel the awkwardness he had detected between mother and son, other boys came up to talk to Draco, giving high fives or shoving each other's shoulders. The blonde grinned at them and relaxed immediately, returning to the Draco Harry was used to seeing.

"Hey Call, Lew." He smirked at two boys that came out of a room close to the entrance. "These are friends of mine. First years." He nodded to the ones beside him. "Ron, Harry, this is Callum and Lewis." He addressed the slightly uncomfortable and nervous youngsters. "Don't believe a word that comes out of their mouths. They're utter nutters." He whispered just loudly enough so that Callum and Lewis could hear.

"Don't spew rubbish, Drake." One of them rolled his eyes and shoved his shoulder again. "Oliver's up on the second floor, I think. You'll have to do the stairs." He snickered in amusement.

Draco narrowed his eyes at him playfully, then glanced down dejectedly at both his bag and heavy suitcase. "Either of you care to help?"

Callum and Lewis' answer was to run away in the opposite direction, their laughter sounding through the entire hallway as they hurried into another room. All the doors were wide open, waiting for new occupants.

"Didn't think so." Draco muttered, but didn't seem to have expected otherwise, and he shrugged it off. No one liked to do chores for anyone else at St-James.

"Who's this Oliver bloke?" Ron wondered as he watched others pass by them and climbing the stairs with their parents, or some upperclassmen carrying some of their load. But no one was available to help Draco with the bag that his mother had left him when she split with Hermione.

"He's got the chart." Draco sighed as he lifted both his suitcase and bag from the floor. Harry was impressed he was able to do it. But then again, Draco was much taller than either of them. He hadn't stopped growing just because they hadn't seen each other. "We have to go find him first, so that he can tell us which room we're in. Usually everyone is grouped by year."

That excluded the possibility of sharing a room with Draco, the raven thought, trying to hide his disappointment. He had expected as much, but had still harboured some hope. Now he only had Ron, or Neville to hope for.

The three of them trudged up the stairs to the second floor, other boys regularly running past them up and down the stairs, chasing each other and throwing unidentified objects. Some stopped to greet Draco, and were consequently introduced to the two curious first years.

Once arrived, it turned out Oliver was nowhere to be seen, so they went up another flight of stairs to the third floor, finally finding a frighteningly tall young man, barely a boy anymore, with dark blonde hair cropped short, surrounded by a flock of little youths with suitcases and backpacks at their feet. He was flicking through sheets of paper on his clipboard while giving directions, sometimes moving up and down the hallway to point to particular rooms.

"Ah, Draco. I was wondering when I'd see you." Oliver grumbled once he'd dispatched the group that had been surrounding him. Harry thought he did not sound very happy to see the blonde.

"Heya, Oliver." Draco said in an equally unenthusiastic tone. "What's my number?" He asked hastily as if he didn't want to be in the older boy's presence for too long.

The upperclassman flipped through the papers again, his eyes scanning from the top to the bottom each time, until they stopped on a particular spot and he said "201. You're downstairs." Then he turned to Harry and Ron, his earlier smile returning to his features. "You must be first years."

"Yes." Draco snapped suddenly, before either of them was able to answer. "These are my friends. Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley." Harry noticed how he slightly stressed the word 'my'.

But the older boy let it go and kept his friendly and welcoming attitude towards the younger ones. "Welcome to St-James." He shook both their hands with a firm grip. Harry had to flex his fingers to get the blood running through them again. "I'm Oliver Wood, the captain of the school's football team (soccer for Americans), and I'm also the dorm leader. So if you feel like joining the team, or if you have any problem whatsoever, I'm in the room next to the nurse on third." Then he looked through his papers again, scanning for their names. "Potter, Harry. You're in room 310. It's right here down the hall." He pointed over his shoulder with a pencil. "And Weasley, Ronald…you're in 206, downstairs like Draco."

They barely had the time to thank him before another wave of pupils arrived from the stairs, awaiting directions. So, deciding that they better get rid of their things first, they split up to find their respective rooms.

Harry's heart felt heavy as he heaved his bag onto his shoulder once again and looked at the open doors until he found the one marked '310'. He was not in the same room with Ron. It increased his level of nervousness, realizing he would be sleeping with three strangers. Even if he was with Neville, it wouldn't be the same.

* * *

Hi again everyone :D

The big news is that **Camille Noir** was the first to answer my question and win the prestigious prize! So you can expect an eponymous character to pop up in the near future.

I was thrilled with the many responses. I'm happy I got you all to think about it at least ;) *laughs wickedly*

And I enjoyed the reviews like a chimpanzee high on banana-speed (just to invent the most ridiculous comparison); and with that boost of ecstasy, I was able to bring forth this little baby of a chapter, hoping that it will not disappoint :)

There were a few questions, but as I thought they would already be answered with this chapter, or in the following one, I thought I wouldn't bother anyone with lengthy answers and just leave you to enjoy ^^

With the kindest regards

Aoiika


	31. Chapter 28

**A/n: **Thank you for all the wonderful reviews!

* * *

**Chapter 28**

**Shifting Timetables**

If Harry had thought that he could enter his new school without much attention or trouble, well, then he had been sorely mistaken indeed.

The ten-year old had had to endure quite some gossip and staring at his old school, mainly because of the rumour about his parents Parkinson had spread and because of the sloppy clothes he wore. But luckily, being friends with the popular Weasley twins and with Draco had helped him somewhat, even after they had all three of them left to secondary schools, so that no one had really bothered him.

Still, he'd felt that he was being left in the margins of the little society within the school, a feeling that he was beginning to believe he would never escape.

It wasn't unreasonable to hope for a fresh start, to be able to blend in more successfully, even to make some friends (though he would always keep Hermione, Ron and Draco as his best friends, of course).

The day of arrivals at St-James' College hadn't ended very well to begin with. The three other first years who would be sharing a room with him all year had arrived before he'd been able to change into his uniform, and he'd seen the way they'd openly gawked at his worn jeans held in place with a plain old leather belt and the t-shirt that had been washed so many times the original blue colour had turned a blotchy pastel, the collar falling down his shoulder whenever he forgot to pull it up every few minutes.

The four boys had exchanged names, and before Harry had realized it, George, Jeff and Sam (as were their names) had already started conversing about their summer vacations. The discouraged boy had listened to scraps of stories of a Chinese metropolis, white-sand beaches somewhere in the Caribbean and a long trip of all the major European cities as he put his belongings away in one of the built-in closets, realizing with a sting of shame that he wasn't even able to fill it. It was only when he'd gone to fetch the school books and uniforms that he'd purchased weeks before and left here in storage that he was able to make it look like he had just as much with him as the other three, who seemed to have completely forgotten about his existence by then.

"Uh…Harry, right?" Jeff, the tallest one, had asked him after two hours of this. "Where did you go over the summer?"

Harry had felt that the boy at least _tried_ to include him, but it was more out of politeness, aristocratic pride about manners, than real interest. So he'd shrugged and quickly lied vaguely about a trip to Southern France with his family. He'd heard Hermione talk enough about several tri[s there with her parents that he thought he could sustain the lie if anyone pushed for further information.

Yes. Sadly, he still had to resort to lying frequently, what with his situation with the Dursleys. But he made sure to lie as little as possible to his friends, and if he could, just avoid touchy subjects altogether.

After having dinner with Ron and Hermione, while Draco had rejoined his friends from his own year and dorm room, he had felt a little better, and had gathered just a little more courage. An institution such as St-James, filled with snobs, or at least children who were very well-off, was an intimidating place for a ten-year old who had just barely celebrated his birthday.

At least, he'd already pulled on his uniform, as had Hermione in her enthusiasm, and he thought he would be just a little more incognito from then on.

Of course, Harry had been too nervous for his first school day the next morning to catch much sleep. He'd known he wouldn't be able to close his eyes. But luckily it had nothing to do with his fear of nightmares anymore. _That_ was something he'd managed to resolve in the past two years.

The solution to the nightmare with the mountain, and his mother falling in the snow, drenching it with the blood that came from the hole in her stomach, had been hard to find. It wasn't like he'd really looked for it. He'd actually been plagued by that same dream over and over again for many months, until he woke up so quickly that he hadn't even started screaming yet when he opened his eyes to his sweaty sheets and sometimes chattering teeth.

But with time, he'd started to get used to the events in the dream. It wasn't always exactly the same, but it was predictable. That was how he'd been certain it was a memory, and not a random creation from his brain. And he'd come to detach himself a little more every time.

It didn't mean that he wasn't afraid anymore, that he wasn't running towards his mother like a madman, trying to save her in some way, or trying to find his father of whom he could only hear the voice echo against the desolate and hostile mountain ridges. It meant that as he did those things, and felt those things, his rational brain seemed to be able to function and analyse the events rather than get lost in the confusion and panic of it.

And then the night had come when he had not woken up, the night that he had not screamed into his pillow. The raven had stopped himself from turning away, and had forced himself to look at his mother this time. To _really_ look at her; her fingers clutching at the scarlet snow, her chest heaving with the effort of looking up at her son, her grimace as her eyes met their exact match in his, and her stomach…

And then the raven had remembered.

He had seen that wound before as a seven-year old. That day, when he'd been frozen in place in the doorway of Mrs. Figg's house, his eyes had been forced to see the gaping hole that had pierced his mother from her back to her stomach.

Harry discovered his memories of the most horrible day of his life alone in his bedroom at night. He processed them for many other nights. Distancing himself from it and analyzing it in a rational way had helped a little, and that was how he'd understood that Lily had been shot in the back, and that the bullet had travelled through her to exit at the front, ripping everything inside of her. But she hadn't died instantly. She had bled to death rather slowly and had only allowed herself to die once she had seen her son one last time.

All this Harry had learned from the research he'd done on the internet. Only when it was almost closing time and there was practically no one left in the library had he dared to search the internet for this rather morbid information about bullet wounds and their consequences. But he was glad he'd done it. He felt he'd done his mother right, that he hadn't let her down by doing this.

But then he'd started getting frustrated, because he realized with time that it was nothing at all that he'd discovered. He still had no clue who had done it and why. And his father... He could only remember the policeman telling him that night, when they'd been searching his entire home, that his father would never come home again. How had he died? Had he been together with his mother? Had they been attacked? Had he died first? Had he protected her? Why? How? What had happened?

The answers that Harry had found from finally remembering the events of that day had only brought a million more questions with it. And Petunia who never missed a chance to tell him that it had been her sister's own fault if she'd been murdered, that it was because they'd been bad people, criminals. It confused the young boy. He didn't know what to think. And with all the rumours that had spread around the school about it…

It had all ended in him having to shut everything up in himself again, for fear that he would crack under the pressure of it all and that his friends would notice what he was going through. He didn't want them to know. He wasn't sure why, but he felt that they would treat him differently if they did, that they would always try to cheer him up, or tip-toe around him, or try to talk about it. Besides, what if his parents had really done bad things? Then he didn't want those secrets divulged to Ron and Hermione. He would protect his parents' memory, and everything else he could. He would never let them down.

That was the end of the raven-boy's nightmares. Sometimes he still had them, but they didn't hold the same control over him, they couldn't make him scream. He was stronger than them, he thought with pride. He'd conquered them.

It was one thing less to worry about the night before his first school day at St-James, and though he hadn't slept very well, he felt ready to dive into the new day that morning at breakfast. Draco wasn't with them to eat, but Harry didn't mind. He'd brushed his teeth with his blonde friend that morning. It had reassured him enough.

"We have our first lesson with Snape this afternoon!" Ron's mouth gaped open over his plate of sausage and very little eggs. He and Harry had the greatest part of their classes together, and he was looking over their schedule for the day while Hermione did the same on her side.

"I have her this morning." She noticed on her sheet with mixed feelings. Severa Snape taught European Literature in both the boys' and girls' school. At least it meant that Harry and Ron could borrow her notes if necessary. "I heard my roommates say that she's awful to _everyone_, even teachers. It sounds even worse than two years ago back in Surrey."

"I heard the same from _my_ roommates." Ron seemed to pale ever so slightly. He looked like he'd seen a spider crawling over his sausages.

There was a sudden squeal nearby, as if a little mouse had run between their feet under the table. Harry turned to the source of the sound and saw that Neville was seated next to Ron, an empty spot on the bench between them. He looked very worried, when Harry ever got to see the face that he was constantly casting down.

But Harry was happy to see him. He hadn't caught a glimpse of him since the Welcoming Party and had wondered if he'd shown up.

"Hi, Neville." He said somewhat tentatively.

The boy with the puffy cheeks responded as well as he could.

"Are you worried about Snape?" Harry wondered. It seemed that rumours of her reputation had reached every first-year before the end of Arrivals Day. Neville nodded into his plate of beans on toast. "Don't be." The raven tried to sound reassuring, knowing full well that there actually _was_ some cause for worry. "It's probably just the upperclassmen trying to scare us. Next year you'll be doing it to the new ones."

The Longbottom boy actually laughed at this, though it was more of a nervous chuckle. But his chin seemed to lift just a little more away from his plate, allowing himself to meet the eyes of the trio who sat huddled together.

"And Hermione's got really good noting skills, you'll…" Ron begun, waving nonchalantly at Neville, including him effortlessly as was the Weasley way of doing things.

"_Ron!_" Hermione puffed at once in indignation. "I told you I'm not going to keep doing _everything_ for you! Besides we're in separate dorms, and I'm _not_ going to spend my time crossing between the two while I should be studying for exams."

"Exams? Now?" Ron countered. "It's the bloody first day!"

"And you think that scholarship is just going to drop into your lap, do you?" She lectured, her thin nose rising delicately into the air.

"Don't mind them, Neville." Harry whispered across the table to the boy, sliding a little closer to him and away from the two whose voices were starting to make heads turn their way. "I'm sure Hermione will be pleased to help you if you're in trouble, so don't worry. We're all in the same boat, you know."

"Y-y-yes. Th-thank you." The nervous boy nodded and swallowed, even though he hadn't put anything into his mouth. His eyes weren't lingering on his plate so much anymore.

The first few classes weren't actually that bad. Most teachers just liked to lecture them on the history and prestige of the school, and what they expected of its students, in behaviour as well as in grades. It was a little stressful, but at least it gave them some time to adjust before pouring over the books.

At lunch, Draco came to sit by them, curious to know what the three of them thought of the professors they'd seen until now. He was more than happy to tell them about all of their strange little quirks, like the history teacher for instance who would always use a new piece of chalk whenever the last one broke, and leaving the pieces lying on the floor; which meant that students had to clean up a dozen or so pieces of chalk after each class, which they kept of course so that they could throw it at the back of their classmates' heads in the next lesson. Or about the maths professor for the first, second and third year boys, who always wore trousers that looked like pyjama bottoms and still used a cell-phone the size of a car battery.

The four of them sniggered all the way through lunch as they compared the teachers of St-James to the weirdest professors they'd come up with for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Harry's only regret was when he saw that Draco's self-confident behaviour and popularity and seniority had scared away the puffy-cheeked boy who had retreated to a different table to eat his lunch alone, his eyes once more fixed on the shepherd's pie they'd been served.

Just at the time that they'd begun to consider going outside for the remainder of lunch break, a sudden silence descended upon the tables surrounding them. Harry turned around along with his friends to look at the entrance of the dining hall and felt his throat constrict for a moment when Snape's tall and imposing figure approached, her high heels clicking on the tiled floor and her usual long black cardigan flowing around her as she walked.

Her eyes, cold, dark and determined, were probably what had induced the hush among the students, but they all started whispering furiously once it was clear where she was headed: straight to the quartet's table.

Draco was the only one not feeling quite so intimidated. Siberia had already unleashed her full powers on him many times during the time of his life, and had grown accustomed to it at an early age. He _was_ however concerned for his friends. He'd warned Harry in his mail to be ready for the woman and hoped now that he had listened.

"Mr. Potter." Professor Snape, as she was called now in this school, said, ignoring the three others entirely. "Your assignments."

It took a brief moment for Harry to recall what she was talking about. He'd been laughing and joking, and thinking of things in an entirely different dimension. But when it hit him, dread filled him just recently filled stomach.

"I…I left it in the dormitory." He squeaked. Strangely, Siberia was much scarier when lots of people were around. Maybe it was the fear that emanated from the other students that scared him. He was afraid of the fear itself.

The raven hadn't thought to bring the stack of papers he'd collected in a binder over the two years they were still in elementary school. It was heavy, and he'd been loaded with all his books for the morning classes already. He'd thought that she'd ask him in their first literature class in the afternoon, and that he would go get the binder during lunch, which she hadn't given him the chance to do yet.

"Well," Severa Snape spoke with deliberate slowness, as if the dark-haired boy were mentally impaired, "go _get it_ then." A sudden rush of air could be heard coming from her nostrils.

Ron turned around so that the teacher couldn't see him and raised an eyebrow at Harry that made him want to laugh. Then he mouthed something at him that he thought was something like "Is she a bull or something?" Which was most likely a comment on that snorting noise she'd made.

The raven pursed his lips to keep the slightly nervous smile from bubbling up to the surface, stood up, nearly entangling his legs together as he pulled them away from between the bench and the table, and then hurried out the dining hall hoping his friends would clean up after him, out of the school building and straight to the dormitories.

"Why by Merlin did she come _now_?" Hermione hissed with a murderous gaze towards the teachers' offices where Severa Snape had retreated with the stack of essays and analyses Harry had gone to fetch for her. "Why not wait for class?"

The bushy-haired girl was usually the one with the answers, so when she was the one asking the questions, none of them really knew what to say.

"She's lost her marbles." Ron grumbled after a long walk of silence through the corridors, where they would have to split to go to their respective lessons. "I say it, Fred and George said it, and even Percy said it before them. Bill and Charlie were lucky bastards that she wasn't yet teaching in Surrey in their time."

"She just wants to make everyone uncomfortable." Hermione added with a fierce frown.

Draco preferred not to say anything. He thought he knew his mother's cousin better than anyone, having been raised by her until the age of four and tutored by her ever since. It was obvious to anyone that she was unpleasant, unsociable, strict and bitter. But no matter what she did, she always had a purpose. Severa Snape was not a woman who liked to pull attention to herself, or anyone else for that matter. She wouldn't have wanted to make a scene in the dining hall unless she thought it necessary in some way.

Grey-eyes had the growing suspicion that there was something waiting for Harry in his first lesson on European Literature. But having no idea what, he chose not to voice those suspicions, and instead settled for some reassurances; for he saw that his friend, who was after all three years his junior and on the small side, was playing with his thin fingers, tangling and untangling them over and over again, the way he did when he was nervous.

Draco's hand snaked down inconspicuously to those furiously active fingers and enveloped them with his own. He couldn't help but notice how warm they felt in his palms.

"It will be fine. I'm sure you did well on the assignments." He said, lowering his voice as they trailed behind Ron and Hermione, so that only Harry could hear. "Just enjoy the first day, because starting tomorrow, the homework is going to start flooding in."

The raven managed to keep his fingers still during his Russian lesson. It was the only one he had without Ron, because Ron had opted for French, because then he could always ask Draco for help, and Russian was too difficult he thought. Harry on the other hand hadn't been able to resist when he'd seen that his favourite language was an option. He'd already learned to read the Cyrillic alphabet by himself, and some basic grammar and words.

But after Russian came European Literature, and though he was reunited with his red-headed friend, his nerves were pushing his hands to start fidgeting again.

Professor Snape was already seated at the desk in the front of the classroom when the pupils filed in in little groups of two or three, and going to sit together accordingly. As soon as they passed the doorstep, they went as quiet as a church on a work day. The literature teacher's reputation had preceded her, and none of the first years was foolish enough to test what they'd heard on the very first day.

The lesson had officially already started ten minutes ago, but still professor Snape sat at her desk, her eyes darting from left to right at an alarming speed as she read something lying on the desktop. It was with a sinking stomach that Harry recognized his binder of essays lying on the corner of the table. She was reading _his_ work.

And still everyone was quiet. Quiet enough that they were able to hear some upperclassmen playing football on the terrain outside close by the tree-line of the little countryside forest. Cheers and arguments, and the loud 'thump' of a foot colliding with the ball slipped through the open windows on a September breeze, already smelling of autumn leaves.

When Harry thought he could no longer stand it and had to do _something_, like run away or scream or roll around on the floor, the teacher with the pointy nose and all clad in black put the papers she'd been reading back in their place in the binder, and stood up to fully face her students.

"Tell me all of your names, one by one, _loud_ and _clear_."

Everyone looked at each other, wondering who should go first. A boy who was also wearing glasses and who sat right in front of Ron on the left side of the first row cleared his throat and then said tentatively: "Justin Finch-Fletchley."

"I don't care for your given name, Mr. Finch-Fletchley." Siberia snapped and clicked her heels as she shifted her weight to look at the boy next to Justin, as if daring him to say his first name.

"Macleod." The boy almost squeaked as he cringed in his seat.

They continued this way, and Snape did not acknowledge when it was Ron and Harry's turn that she already knew their names, moving on swiftly until they reached the last row. And then it was Neville's turn.

Harry pursed his lips, feeling nervous for the timid boy. He hadn't seen Neville was in the room, he'd been too busy fidgeting and worrying to pay much attention. If he'd known he would've asked him to come sit by him and Ron, like he'd done in the morning classes they'd had together.

It was a debacle. Neville didn't speak for the first half-minute, and then stuttered on the 'L' for another minute, until Snape sighed in exasperation.

"Apparently this boy has no name, unless it be 'L', so let's proceed." She said harshly and looked at the next student, ignoring Neville.

"Wait!"

All heads snapped around to look at Harry, including Ron who was shooting him a silent '_are you insane?'_ with is eyes. But even though the raven-haired boy was already so nervous for himself, he could not let something like this pass. Neville deserved to be treated like everyone else. He had the right to be respected!

"Neville." He addressed the puffy-cheeked boy. "If you have something to say, say it!" He said, a little more forceful than he thought was good, but Neville had to step up and defend _himself_ too.

Neville looked shocked to the point where he looked catatonic. But then, at the first try and in one go he said: "Longbottom."

It had still sounded very weak and shrill, but he had not wavered. Severa Snape raised an eyebrow at the raven-haired child sitting in the second row, a determined look in his eyes and an encouraging smile on his lips destined for the Longbottom boy. Then she turned to the next child in line and went on until every pupil had said his name.

"Very well. We'll start immediately with the great Greek authors of classical times." She rattled so quickly that it was hard to distinguish the separate words, as if they'd lost a whole hour instead of five minutes. "But first, Mr. Potter, if you would step over to my desk."

Harry's eyes widened in surprise and horror as he watched her sit on her chair, pulled out a blank sheet of paper and started writing so swiftly that she'd already written ten lines when Harry was close enough to see, but he didn't' dare try and make out what it was she was writing.

When she was finished, she folded it neatly but quickly and handed it to him. "You are no longer needed in this class. Take this to the secretary's office."

Wave after wave of pure humiliation crashed over Harry as he turned on his heels and stomped out the room. His cheeks felt ablaze and he tried to walk as quickly as possible to avoid anyone seeing the intense red colour they must have. It probably rivalled Ron's ears whenever his twin brothers teased him.

He felt an intense rage too, caused by the injustice of this act. He'd worked _two_ years on those assignments! Had read all the books! He'd already read all the Greek authors she was going to talk about. Homer, Sophocles, Euripides, Herodotus, Socrates, Plato, Archimedes, all of them! At least one of their works for each. He hadn't understood most of it, but he'd _tried_! And without any other help than the internet at the library and the notes that Siberia had given him with the assignments, he thought he'd done pretty well.

And now she threw him out, _again_?

The raven made deep rasping caws and beat his wings in fury and distress all the way to the secretary's office, where he stormed in and threw the door open a little too hard, earning him accusing looks from the three women who were seated at their desk and computers.

"How can I help you?" The closest one to the door, a plump woman in a floral dress with a sour face and greying hair asked him, sounding stern.

Harry gave her the folded paper. It was a little crumpled, and it served to get him another disapproving glance. He judged it better if he did not speak right now.

The woman put on her glasses and started reading the note, her eyebrows crunching together the further she got to the end. "Wh.." She huffed. "This is outrageous!"

Leaving the raven-boy behind at the reception desk, she flitted back to her two colleagues and they started discussing furiously in lowered voices. One even made a call on the telephone, and judging from her tone, it sounded like she was complaining.

"But Minerva! We can't…" Harry could just hear when she suddenly raised her voice in protest to something that had been said on the other side of the line. She was cut off however, and she listened with pursed lips, shaking her head slightly when her colleagues looked at her questioningly.

All this time Harry was left to strike root on the spot. His fingers were slipping as he proceeded to fumbling with them, and he tried to wipe off the sweat on the white, short-sleeved shirt of his summer uniform.

It felt like an hour had passed when one of the women, the youngest this time, told him to come with her to the meeting room. It was just a little further down the hall and it was where staff meetings were held, or where the headmistress spoke to parents when they came in with complaints or other problems. It wasn't being used at the moment, so the young secretary and the even younger boy slipped in. She signed for him to take a seat and he slid tentatively on the edge of one of the many chairs.

The young secretary sat across from him and laid down a few sheets on the table that she had taken with her, and starting looking over what looked like timetables. Lots of them.

Then she opened a file that she had also taken with her. "Potter, Harry, isn't it?"

Harry croaked a nervous "Yes."

"Well this is going to be a little complicated, and it's so short notice!" She complained, apparently thinking that he knew what on earth she was talking about.

Harry stared at her questioningly. He was frowning so deeply he could _feel_ the skin of his forehead wrinkling.

"If we want to reschedule your timetable by tomorrow I'm afraid we'll have to do it immediately. But there are going to be some issues. There will always be some lesson that you will be missing when you're following professor Snape's class."

_What?_ The raven shook his head. He must've missed something, somewhere along the line.

"Wait, what class?" He asked, his voice hoarse.

"European Literature, of course." The secretary looked at him strangely, as if assessing his intelligence.

"But, Sibe…_professor Snape_ said I was no longer needed in her class."

"Not the first-year course, no. She…_demanded_," the secretary closed her eyes and took a deep breath to calm herself, "that you were placed in the third-year course for European Literature. Now…"

"Wait!" Harry interrupted her. "She…what?"

The young woman shifted her weight, clearly becoming impatient with repeating herself.

"She asked for you to follow her class, but on the third-year level, effectively skipping the two first years. But in order to do that, we have to shift your schedule around. And professor Snape also demanded that it be done by tomorrow's first period, which will be the first third-year European Literature class, so that you not miss any lessons.

We don't have enough time to work out an entirely different timetable, and it wouldn't be possible anyway to make everything fit, because we cannot simply switch you with another student as it is _only_ European Literature that you will be following with the third forms.

The only way I see to do this however," she perused the different schedules on the many papers in front of her, marking some places with her pen, "is to _also_ shift you to the third-year English Literature. Professor Snape said you were advanced in both."

The secretary looked up the boy whose mouth had fallen open for confirmation.

"Uh…" Harry started rather awkwardly. Again, she looked at him in a weird manner. He thought he understood why now. She was trying to see if he was really smart enough to be put into an advanced course, even if it was only literature. "I know some of the English authors?" It ended in an uncertain question. He wondered whether it was enough.

"Well, I have no choice but to do it this way for now, as we are so short on time." The secretary continued. "The assignments professor Snape collected from you will be counted as exams for the first two cycles, but I cannot let you into an advanced course on English Literature before you take an official test to prove you have learned what is required in the curriculum, and before Mr. Wright, the English Literature professor, has approved.

I will arrange for you to take that test tomorrow with Mr. Wright himself. Headmistress McGonagall instructed for the test to be taken orally, as there is not time for Mr. Wright to put together a proper examination. If you succeed, then we have but one problem left with your schedule."

Harry's head was spinning. Too much information in too little time wasn't healthy for the brain, he concluded. But he understood enough for his nerves to come barging back. A test! Tomorrow! He wasn't prepared!

When he didn't speak, the secretary decided to continue with her organisational explanations, wondering if the ten-year old child (like it said in Harry's file) could really understand anything so complicated. But the boy sat still and looked tense and concentrated as he listened. Maybe he did follow…

"The one problem is that both English and European Literature fall on time when you should be having History. I could shift around some more and put you in different classes, but that would change you schedule _completely_ and there would still be at least two classes that fall on the same time. I think it's much simpler this way. But that means that you will have to learn History by yourself, with the notes and help of your professor, of course, during the periods that you will have no class, due to the shift in your timetable.

Do you think you could handle that as well?"

The raven just nodded. At this point, he couldn't be in more trouble. Third-year European Literature with Snape? Fine. Third-year English Literature? Fine. Oral exam tomorrow with Professor Wright? Fine. Self-study in History? Well, yes, fine too!

There was one last class to sit through when Harry came back from the secretariat, but he had no idea what it was or what was being said. Ron poked him in the side constantly, whispering a thousand questions about what had happened. But Harry shook his head. He felt numb, he felt like he'd had an exhausting dream.

Even after the class, he waved Ron away and went straight back to the dormitories to immediately jump into the books he'd purchased for literature when he still thought he'd be following the first-year course. There was no way could fail that test tomorrow. He was certain he would get in trouble, would fail his end of year exams, would be expelled even.

His mind spiralled out of control driven by his stress and panic and shock, but he kept on reading, only starting to breathe properly again when he noticed that he _did_ actually know most of the things in the books.

But then there were other things that he had forgotten, or that he had never quite grasped, and so he refused when Draco and Ron came to get him for dinner, growling when they came to near or became too pushy.

"Great, we've got Hermione the second on our shoulders." Ron mumbled gruffly as they left his dormitory room.

* * *

Well, my back hurts. I was a little behind so I wrote almost all of this in one sitting, so I've been going at it for 3 hours. I hope it's worth my efforts ^^

So, what do you think, will Harry be able to do it? Or is Siberia asking too much of him?

Leave me some comments, please ;) I'm open to all ideas, suggestions and questions.

And sorry if I haven't responded to all reviews, I'll try to do it for this chapter, I promise. :D


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